


To Change the World

by ivegoneslightlymad



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU Fourth Year, Anal Sex, Annoying Hermione, Different Magical Cultures, Evil Dumbledore, Gay, Gay Harry, Grey Harry, Hogwarts Fourth Year, Kinda AU, Kinda original still, Lordships, Lots of other stuff, M/M, Noble Houses, Oral Sex, Plot, Powerful Harry, Promise, Triwizard Tournament, Violence, Weasley Bashing, not remotely canon compliant
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-30
Updated: 2020-11-14
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:42:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 106,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21614026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ivegoneslightlymad/pseuds/ivegoneslightlymad
Summary: Harry Potter was abused. Fortunately, his parents had a contingency plan for when they died and Dumbledore shipped their baby off to wizard-hating muggles. And so Harry ends up in the care of another aunt, who loves him, and nurtures him, and helps to prepare him for a world where politics is a vicious game and magic is might. It's kind of lucky, then, that Harry likes both. Perhaps he even likes a boy called Cedric Diggory.Powerful/Grey/Independent Harry. AU Fourth Year. Slash.
Relationships: Cedric Diggory/Harry Potter
Comments: 44
Kudos: 512





	1. The Morning Post

Three letters. Two owls. One crow. A fourteenth birthday. That was the sum total of the morning’s arrivals. Harry stretched out in his deeply comfortable bed, enjoying the play of warm silk against skin as he forced himself into wakefulness. He blinked once before turning his head toward a window on the far side of the room, left open the night before, its gauzy curtains shifting gently in the slowly moving air. The trio of birds on the sill stood out in sharp relief against the dawn. The owls were waiting patiently; the crow was responsible for waking him.

Harry debated showering before addressing the post, but elected not to try the patience of the two birds who were eyeing their companion with icy disdain. Slipping out of bed, he padded across the room to retrieve his letters. The first, emerald ink on heavy cream parchment, was expected. Its barn owl, looking surprisingly unruffled after its intercontinental flight, sidled neatly through the slightly open window and took off immediately. The second, a thick parcel wrapped in canvas, unaddressed and sealed with a blood stamp, was predicted. Its courier, an enormous horned owl, remained stationary and impassive. The third, a lined sheet of muggle paper, folds held by magic rather than envelope, was a complete surprise. The crow, with a final caw of farewell, followed its recently departed companion into the morning beyond the apartment block. He nodded the remaining messenger onto his forearm, taking her to settle on the back of a chair before summoning a bag of owl treats and bowl of water with a lazy wave of his hand. Leaving her to eat, he sat at the desk and opened the first missive.

_Dear Harry,_ it began. His lips twitched slightly at this new informality.

_I know that you are at least receiving these letters, although my others have all failed to reach you, and so I must trust to official Hogwarts correspondence. I would like to offer you once more a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry. It is time for you to assume your place in our society, the society of your birth and heritage. You must by now have accepted the existence of magic; your powers cannot be but obviously manifest at your age even without training. It is dangerous for you to develop outside of the structured environment Hogwarts can provide._

_I offer you the education you require to reconcile with your magic and learn to use it. Whatever your current circumstances, all you need do is sign the bottom of this parchment and the owl who bore it will return and carry your confirmation. Any correspondence, or information about your circumstances you might wish to inform me of, may also be sent. If you require rescue, I can help you._

_Remedial training to bring you up to the level of your peers at Hogwarts will be made available to you, and I include a list of the subjects on offer to fourth years (those you choose will be your OWL subjects)._

_I hope to hear from you soon._

_Yours in friendship,_

_Albus Dumbledore, MoT, OoM, OoSC_

_Headmaster of Hogwarts,_

__

_Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot &_

_Grand High Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards_

Harry raised an eyebrow at the parchment, surprised by the indications of Dumbledore’s rising desperation; the suggestion that he might require rescue at odds with the expected tone of staid complacency, and, more startlingly, the faintly emotional intimation of friendship at the end. The impatience was clear, however, and hilarious.

Harry turned over to the second enclosed sheet to find a list of subjects;

_List of Subjects, Required Texts and Equipment: Year 4_

_Core Subjects (compulsory) (all further/additional texts provided)_

_Transfiguration (Poultry to Porcelain: Intermediate Transfigurations for the Able Student, by Albus Dumbledore)_

_Charms (The Standard Book of Spells: Year 4, by Miranda Goshawk)_

_Defence Against the Dark Arts (Curses & Creatures: Wizarding Protection in the Modern World, by Claudius Stormwind)_

_Magical Theory (The Complete Guide to European Magical Theory, by Cuthbert Dewden)_

_Potions (Draughts of the Mind, by H.E.F Slughorn)_

_Arithmancy & Finance (Numerology and Grammatica, by Misocles Carneiro)_

_Astronomy (Light in-between the Dark Spaces: Stars & Constellations of the Northern Hemisphere, by Anastasius Rigel)_

_History of Magic (Wizarding Britain & the Age of Change, 1450-1700, by Bathilda Bagshot)_

_Herbology (The Comprehensive Plants of Europe & Asia, by Phyllida Spore)_

_English & Magical Literature (Writers Muggle and Magical of the Early-Modern Era, by Archibald Chauxton)_

_Electives (minimum one, maximum three)_

_Advanced Arithmancy (The Maths behind the Magic: Further Equations for the Gifted, by Annette Wenlock)_

_Geographical Studies (Two Worlds, One Earth, by Arthur Trench)_

_Muggle Studies (Primitive or Misunderstood? The Culture of the Non-Magicals, by Wilhelm Wigworthy)_

_Ancient Runes (Signs & Symbols: Making Sense of Marks, by Yuri Blishen)_

_Care of Magical Creatures (Fantastic Beasts & Where to Find Them, by Newt Scamander)_

_Magical Languages (Texts provided by the school, and vary according to language/s studied, inquire for further details)_

_Divination (Unfogging the Future, by Cassandra Vablatsky)_

_Ancient Studies (Old Magicks: Cultures of Southern Europe and Latin America, by Monty Ochti)_

_Music (Magical Chords and Muggle Music, by Giordiano Caccini [basic proficiency in an instrument required; auditions during first week of term])_

_Art (Painting the Soul: Portraiture and the Science of Moving Pigment, by Marvin van der Doon)_

_(Those teachers responsible for their individual electives reserve the right to refuse admission to their course to any they consider unsuitable.)_

_Standard Equipment/Clothing (Male): Robes (3 sets, plain black, house crest), Tie (house colours), Shirts (5, white, formal), trousers (3 pairs, black/charcoal, formal), Shoes (black, formal), Dress Robes, Dragonhide Protective Gloves and Apron, Quills, Ink, Parchment, Cauldron (1, Standard Size), Potions Kit (Standard Student), Telescope (brass), Wand._

_Musical instruments and broomsticks are permitted, as long as stored and used appropriately. Casual clothing may be worn before breakfast, after dinner, and during weekends._

Harry nodded slowly as he worked his way through the list, but rolled his eyes when he reached a postscript scrawled in Dumbledore’s illegibly loopy hand: _Your parents were possessed of considerable wealth-_ the standard assurance to a financially unsure young wizard that had appeared in every year’s letter- _I would be delighted to accompany you to Diagon Street so you might have my guidance in Gringotts (the main Wizarding bank)-_ the slightly suspicious, vaguely creepy, and probably greed-motivated, offer.

He flattened the two pieces of parchment out on the desk in front of him before concentrating on extending his magical senses, dropping into the semi-trancelike state that allowed him to see curses and enchantments with far more clarity than his normal awareness would permit. This way managed to be both quicker and far more thorough than the myriad diagnostic spells he would otherwise have had to use. The magic he had sensed on the first page was, as expected, now visible as the gentle white glow of a binding magical contract, its words hidden behind the visible text, and the space for his signature where Dumbledore had politely suggested he affix his name. The contract itself would do little more than tie him to Hogwarts, preventing his enrolment at any other school of magic, although the gentle inclination towards attendance it would initially instil in him would no doubt gradually strengthen if he failed to arrive.

The second parchment was more interesting. The bottom three inches, containing the text of Dumbledore’s addendum, appeared to his sight to be dripping slowly with a luminous sickly lilac liquid. Examining it more closely, he felt the gentle pull of a compulsion; no doubt the parchment had been carefully dipped in what was a hugely complicated, and internationally illegal, potion. It was impressive, for the letter itself had borne only a very faint magical trace he had initially subconsciously explained as the natural result of stationery stored in powerfully magical surroundings, and subsequently handled and marked by a wizard of considerable strength.

Despite the lack of magical signature, the compulsion suspended in the potion and soaked into the parchment was hugely strong and, although not doubting his ability to throw off its effects, Harry was glad that he had managed not to touch the poisoned area. The purpose of the compulsion itself seemed to encourage a belief in, and an acting upon, the words covered by the potion, but also a more general trust in the man who had written them.

_Dumbledore’s getting desperate_ Harry thought amusedly as he passed a hand over the sheets, brushing them to the side as they folded themselves neatly.

He drew the heavy pack of canvas-wrapped papers in front of him, and took a silver letter opener from the desk drawer. He pressed the enchanted tip gently against the tip of his left forefinger and let the drop of blood that welled fall onto the crimson seal in the centre of the folded canvas. The Gringotts blood stamp melted away, recognising the identity of the one to whom it had been sent, and releasing the wrappings around the documents rather than burning the whole packet to ashes, as would have happened in the event of attempted tampering or the application of the wrong blood.

A stack of parchment leaves even weightier than Dumbledore’s stationery was revealed, a letter written in neat copperplate at the top.

_Dear Lord Potter,_

_It has come to our attention that today, your fourteenth birthday, marks your rightful coming-of-age according to the ancient tradition of Britain’s magical aristocracy. You are now able to lay full claim to the Potter lands, properties, vaults, titles and dignities. Special Wizengamot dispensation will be required to receive official Ministry acknowledgement of your coming of age, and to demand your family seats on the Wizengamot itself, which you can otherwise only accede to at the age of 17._

_Gringotts would like to offer you its congratulations and compliments. Furthermore, it is our honour to invite you to visit any of our major branches at a time of your convenience so that you might claim what wealth of yours we hold in the Potter vaults._

_I include a list of the assets of yours we have held in trust for you for the last thirteen years; we manage a significant property portfolio in addition to extensive shareholdingsin your name in both the magical and muggle worlds._

_Desiring to do business with you soon,_

_Bronzeclaw,_

_Director,_

_Gringotts, London_

He found himself faintly surprised by the platitudes, but supposed it was his wealth that had prompted the businesslike goblins to write in such a way. Harry flicked curiously through the financial statements and lists of his holdings for a few minutes before setting them aside.

The third letter was the most curious. Harry unfolded and spread the slightly crumpled page out, finding it densely covered in tiny, spidery writing.

_Dear Harry,_ it began.

_I beg you to read what I write with an open mind. That’s all I can ask of you. My name is Sirius Black._ At this point Harry froze, forcing down the white-hot rage any mention of that name had induced in him since Remus had told him the full story of his parents’ betrayal two years ago. The news of Black’s escape from Azkaban had reached him with the Daily Prophet nearly a year previously, and his subsequent loss of control over his wandless magic in his fury had required the replacement of the kitchen in the flat they had been staying in at the time. Only the wards his magic had strengthened according to Remus’ blueprints had prevented the entire building from going up in flames. He spent a few moments calming down, resisting the temptation to shove everything away with Occlumency, and let his innate curiosity at the request he have an open mind come to the fore.

He continued reading. _I did not betray, would_ _never_ _have betrayed, James and Lily._ Harry forced back a snort of disbelief and tried to ignore the painful reminder of those words. _Your parents were betrayed by Peter Pettigrew, who was made secret-keeper for the Fidelius when it was thought Voldemort would assume that it was me whom your parents would trust with their lives. Giving in to Dumbledore’s request in this has been my deepest regret, the thought that has haunted me the most in Azkaban for all these years. I am so sorry to be writing to you now and stirring up your pain and rage, but know that, although we have never met, no one is as important to me as you are. I write now what I know to be the true occurrences of the day following your parents’ murder, and your survival._

_I arrived the morning after All Hallows’ Eve to find you alive, and James and Lily dead. I was about to take you from the wreckage of the house when Rubeus Hagrid, the Hogwarts groundskeeper, arrived and claimed to have orders from Dumbledore to take you into safe custody. My second most profound regret is allowing myself to be convinced, by both Hagrid and my desire for revenge, to let you go. I knew that you and your parents could only have been found if the secret-keeper had broken the Fidelius. I went after Peter. I found him that evening hiding in a hospital in muggle London. My rage overcame me and we fought in full view of the muggles. I am ashamed to admit that several must have been killed, and although I might wish to blame Pettigrew for those fatalities, I must confess that in my anger I lost control and share at least equal responsibility. I fought Pettigrew into a corner and disarmed him, at which point I my memory fails me completely. I woke up in a cell in Azkaban, and was told by a guard that I had been found by the aurors, unsconscious at the edge of a crater where the hospital ward we fought in had been blown up. I was apparently clutching Pettigrew’s severed finger in my hand, and in those days, with the DMLE under Crouch Sr., that was sufficient grounds for imprisonment._

_Dumbledore made a mistake in forcing James and Lily to choose Peter, and I believe his unwillingness to admit that inclined him to accept how events turned out. He never questioned my incarceration. Whatever you choose to believe, do_ _not_ _trust that man or his mad philosophies. All that I have claimed in this letter I am willing to testify to under veritaserum, or swear to upon the loss of my life and magic._

_Although I have no right to ask, I truly believe that you are the only one who can help me, and I have waited in exile until your fourteenth birthday, the earliest age of noble inheritance, to contact you. By the time you read this I will no longer be Lord Black. You are. The Black lands, titles, and vaults are yours. The blood ritual to make you my heir was done when you were a baby and I was first declared your godfather. Until this point, none but myself knew that you were my legal heir, and very few that you were my godson and technically, since your parents’ deaths, my ward. I have written to Gringotts, the Black solicitors, and the College of Heralds to renounce the title no legal authority may strip from me. The papers have been filed, and the inheritance will by now automatically have passed to you. I will pass the lordship itself to you if and when we meet: this is no persuasion, but the ring itself cannot be removed from the finger of the last Lord by any but the new. Now, the reason for my action:_

_I, Sirius Orion Black, do formally petition my liege lord and the Head of the Ancient and Noble House of Black for asylum and protection against mine enemies according to the ancient laws and codes of Wizarding Britain. I request that this asylum extend until such time as I might be brought before a trial consisting of my peers where I might be judged fairly for the crimes of which I am accused, but otherwise declared innocent and exonerated from undue blame and the blemish of unfounded accusation._

_Know that I do not make you Lord Black solely for my own purposes and persuasions, but that I hope you to be capable of being more successful in the role than I have ever had the opportunity or inclination to be. I do not know you, and have not seen you in thirteen years, but I maintain my faith because it is all I have._

_Meet me. Name a time, a place, and I will be there. I do not ask for your trust, not yet, but only your willingness to listen. A drop of your blood on this letter and the paper will clear. Write a reply, and your owl will find me._

_I do not know your situation, and I fear that it may be worse than mine. I ask you to meet with someone you believe to be a mass-murderer and the betrayer of your parents. I ask too much and know too little, but can do no more._

_Your ever loving godfather,_

_Sirius Black_

Harry sat back into the chair, anger now completely faded and replaced by confusion. There was no doubt that Black’s story made considerable sense, and he certainly gave the advice Harry had always given himself with regard to Dumbledore. The accepted hospital explosion and unconscious Sirius had always slightly raised his suspicions, though admittedly the new interpretation asked as many questions as it answered, not the least of which was whether Pettigrew was actually dead, seeing as the whole situation Sirius described seemed to be a deliberate setup. He hadn’t had the comfort of the knowledge that his parents’ betrayer was being punished for his crimes since Sirius’ escape nearly a year ago, but the idea that the real traitor might be alive and out there, completely unpunished and living a comfortable life, whole save for a finger, was doubly infuriating.

Something made him inclined to believe Black, though once the folding charms had dispelled there was no trace of magic on the parchment at all, let alone a compulsion. If the purpose of the letter had been to make him question everything he thought he knew, he though wryly, then Black had succeeded. He returned to analyse the contents of the missive, attempting to throw out any preconceptions he had managed to establish on his, admittedly slightly prejudiced, first read-through.Assimilating everything, Harry decided to confirm the inheritance with Gringotts, and ideally the Black solicitors as well, before he attended any meeting.

If it was all true though... he couldn’t help but feel guilty both on behalf of Sirius for his decade in prison, and for delaying a response to a man whose last hope he seemed to be, in spite of the accidentally-killed muggles. _Shit..._ he thought suddenly... _Remus._ He was going to have to show him the letter, not least because his advice on how Harry should respond would be invaluable, well, once he got over the implications. He would also need to look into this asylum stuff; he knew that Black hadn’t received a trial, but in those days that was hardly unusual, and to the best of his knowledge the imprisonment had still been legally binding. His thoughts paused and he sighed internally. At least this whole affair made the decision he had been considering for months somewhat easier.

He stood up, slipping out of the underwear he’d slept in, and went to shower. He dismissed Gringotts’ owl, wanting time to formulate his response.

* * *

Coming through into the huge kitchen half an hour later, dressed in skinny jeans and a white t-shirt, he found Catalina, the housekeeper his aunt had hired from an agency when they moved into the penthouse three months ago, already cooking. She turned round smiling as he walked in, and he grinned back as he sat down on a stool in front of the counter.

“Morning, sexy.” He said cheerfully.

She giggled slightly before composing herself sufficiently to mock-glare at him.

“You should not call me that, Mister Harry.

“It’s true though,” he replied, dragging on an innocent look, “and, thankfully, me being fourteen and gay makes it charming instead of creepy.”

“And a lie.” Aunt Mim interjected briskly as her heels clicked sharply into the room.

Harry turned widened eyes on her. “But surely you can tell when another woman is attractive, Auntie?”

She frowned at him slightly. “That doesn’t mean I can justify calling them ‘sexy’.Anyway,” she continued, now smiling, “Happy Birthday, darling.” She came over to kiss him on the forehead, carefully avoiding leaving any lipstick behind.

“Cheers, Auntie.” Harry thanked her whilst adding smoked salmon to the plate of scrambled egg Catalina had placed in front of him.

“Stop calling me that, makes me feel old,” she grumbled.

“And how am I to address you, then?” He asked, smiling sweetly, “When you’ve already decided that ‘Mim’ is too casual, ‘Miriam’ too formal, and ‘Aunt’ too much like Petunia.”

“Perhaps we should try ‘Ma’am‘ next?” She responded pleasantly, as she watched Catalina add a bagel to Harry’s plate, and smothered the one she’d been brought with cream cheese, “It might bring a hitherto missing element of respect to our relationship.”

“But there’s no one I respect as much as you already, Ma’am. Well, apart from Catalina, but when you can scramble eggs this well then I’ll be happy to rethink the rankings.”

“So where do I feature on this list, then?” Remus questioned as he came in, still half asleep and dressed in rumpled pyjamas.

Harry felt a twinge of concern as he watched his tutor and friend sit in front of the enormous cooked breakfast Catalina placed, still steaming, on the counter. Not only would he have to reopen old wounds, at best making Remus feel guilty for abandoning his friend, and at worst revealing Sirius to be a manipulative bastard trying to get close to Harry, but do so on the day following the night of the full moon.

“Oh, somewhere near the bottom,” he replied casually, forcing himself to sound light-hearted.

Remus looked up from his food to glare at him.

Harry shrugged. “It’s a short list. That help?”

“Not much.”

Harry changed the subject.“Aren’t you going to wish me a happy birthday?”

“Happy Birthday.”

“Cheers,” Harry said brightly.

Remus rolled his eyes at him, before Catalina came to bully him back towards his food.

“Your car’s here, Madam.”

“Thank you, Catalina.” Aunt Mim turned to address Harry, “We’ll do lunch. I’ll text you.”

He nodded agreeably in response, used to his guardian’s schedule. “I’ll just spend a nice relaxed morning with Remus then.

“No morning with you is ever relaxed.”

“Then we’ll just have to keep trying,” he replied, knowing even as he said it that today was not that day.

Aunt Mim eyed them suspiciously for a moment before grabbing her handbag and striding towards the lift. “Be good.” She called behind her.

“Don’t worry, I’ll keep an eye on them both, Ma’am.”

She ignored him.

“Why are you so cheerful this morning?” Remus questioned as soon as she was gone.

“Umm, it’s my birthday?” Harry suggested hopefully.

Remus snorted. “You couldn’t care less about your birthday.”

Harry tilted his head to the side slightly as he eyed Remus. “I got some post this morning.”

His tutor looked up as he finished his meal and passed the plate absently to Catalina. “Well, you were expecting that.”

“Mhm, two of the three letters.” Harry began cautiously as he, too, stopped eating.

“And the third?” Remus questioned suspiciously.

“Is the reason I’m being cheerful.”

“Good news, then?”

“Nope, but I want to show it to you, and for you to know that I’m not emotionally traumatised or anything, but that I’m here for you when you are.”

Remus hadn’t lost the faint frown, but looked more confused than anything by now. “Sorry, why would I think you were emotionally traumatised, and why would I be?”

Harry looked at him for a moment longer in silence. “Why don’t we sit down, on some furniture that you won’t hurt yourself falling off?”

Remus’ eyes narrowed further, but he followed Harry when he stood and moved to one of the sleek sofas in the living area.

“Sirius Black.” Harry began, deciding that more circumspection would just irritate.

“What?” Came the yelped response.

_Nearly,_ Harry mused internally as Remus’ start of surprise, no doubt made considerably more violent by the remnants of his transformation the previous night, brought him perilously close to the edge of his seat. He silently summoned the letter in question, raising a hand to catch it neatly.

Remus, apparently putting two and two together in spite of his shock, eyed the letter as though it were a bomb. “You mean...” he began, “you mean that... that that’s from him?”

“Yup.”

Harry could almost see the mind opposite him working furiously, probably wondering, behind all of that instinctive rage, why on earth Harry was being so calm about all of this, and how the letter was still intact rather than ashes. Eventually, he seemed to force himself to calm, no doubt for his sake, thought Harry.

“May I see the letter?” Came the request, in a voice of such peculiar serenity that Harry immediately suspected forced Occlumency.

Nevertheless, he wordlessly handed it over. Remus took it gingerly. Harry watched his face pale progressively, and was there to catch him when he began to fall in on himself at the end, Occlumency barriers no doubt collapsing under the weight of emotion. He called for Catalina, asking her to bring them some tea when she appeared. He added a generous glug of summoned whiskey to Remus’ cup when it arrived, remembering that it was supposedly something done for people in shock. Harry didn’t particularly like tea, but drank his own to give his tutor time and demonstrate his willingness to be patient. Remus sipped slowly, face turned away from Harry, who still had a comforting arm draped around his shoulders.

“I’ll go to the meeting.” He said finally.

“No, you won’t.” Harry said firmly, privately relieved that Remus was able to speak coherently, if not sensibly.

Remus faced him at last. “But you can’t.” He replied desperately.

“Why not?”

“He might try to kill you.”

“Or you.” Harry pointed out. “I’m going. Besides, if you come then I doubt any sane conversation is going to be possible.”

“What?” Remus replied, yelping again, “You can’t mean to go alone? He’s dangerous Harry!”

“And possibly innocent, apparently.” He returned calmly. “I hold most of the cards here. I decide where the meeting is, and who goes to it, seeing as he’ll almost certainly be alone. It’s only my blood being required to send a response that gives him much security. I wanted your opinion, your advice, on this, but if I’m not convinced you’re being rational then I’ll just ignore it.”

Remusstilled, taking a few moments in an effort to compose himself. “It looks like his hand,” he began, “but are we sure it is from him?”

Harry raised an eyebrow at the laughably obvious attempt to demonstrate a logical approach. “He used, as he mentions, a blood spell to get the letter through the wards. It’d have to be a fairly close relation, and a magical one, to manage that. As you know, I’m rather short of those. It’d be a pretty weak attempt from someone else to lure me out of hiding, anyway.”

Remus nodded slowly.

“Anyway, I hate to ask you this, but you knew him. Are you inclined to believe what he says in the letter?”

Remus sighed, head falling into his hand for a few moments before he answered. “Yes.” He replied simply. “His story makes sense. I knew him for more than a decade, and the one thing I could never imagine him doing is betraying his friends.” Head returned to hand. “Oh, Merlin,” he moaned suddenly. “Don’t you see? _I’ve_ betrayed _him.”_

“Quite probably.” Harry replied.

Remus jerked upright, no doubt instinctively expecting sympathy in spite of his self-absorbed misery, and eyed Harry with surprise.

“What? Did you expect me to immediately give you a hug and consider everything forgiven when there’s a possibility that your lack of faith in your best friend might have subjected my godfather to Azkaban for twelve years?” Remus’ face crumpled as he spoke.

Harry mollified his harsh expression somewhat, extending a hand to hold the one in Remus’ lap. “I love you.” He began, “But if all of this is true then I’m upset with you.”

Remus nodded miserably. “Not as upset as I am with myself. “

Harry held his hand, but otherwise kept his distance, caught between anger and compassion. They sat like that for a long while.

“Anyway,” began Harry, breaking the tense silence and forcing himself to sound cheerful, “I’ll write back to him and arrange a meeting, and then show you my other letters. We can drop off the reply at the owl station when we go into the city this afternoon.”

Remus nodded mutely, apparently having given up fighting whilst still distraught.

“Excellent,” Harry continued, summoning a fountain pen and some parchment from the writing desk against the far wall. He murmured a charm to copy the text of the letter onto the parchment before pricking a finger, this time with magic, and letting a drop of blood fall onto the page, which cleared instantly.

He spent a moment pondering the method of address, finally beginning

‘ _Dear Sirius Black,_

_I am unsure as to whether I can believe your words or not, despite a perhaps natural desire to. I would be glad of the opportunity to meet with you, whether it be to welcome and grieve with, and help to heal, a long-lost godfather, or personally destroy the betrayer of my parents._

_August 2_ _ nd _ _, Gringotts Headquarters, Zurich. 10 AM, local time._

_Harry Potter_

He then copied that letter over onto the parchment, too, for Remus to look over later.

He rose and took the papers through to his room, dropping them on the desk before changing his clothes. “I’m going for a run,” he called to Remus as he slipped on a pair of trainers. He’d decided he needed to clear his head, and give Remus some time alone, before tackling the rest of his correspondence.

He took the lift straight down, and grinned at the doorman as he exited the marble lobby, jogging down the steps and out onto the streets of muggle Lima. They’d been in the city since the beginning of May. They moved several times a year for his Aunt’s job, and in an effort to help preserve his own anonymity. He liked Lima; the culture and the food and the architecture, even if it tended to be slightly cool around this time of year, and although it was uncomfortably humid in the early mornings, which forced him to go running either before dawn or later on in the day.

Harry loved that both the magical and muggle sides of the city were as vibrant and varied as one another, although his interaction with the magical was, by necessity, somewhat limited. He ran from the San Isidro district and up into what locals called ‘El Centro’, where the old colonial centre of the city stood. The weather was comfortable enough for now, at least. The streets and plazas were full of people, both locals and tourists by this time on a Sunday morning, as the churches emptied out their worshippers.

Harry mentally counted off the twelve miles of what had become his usual route, and arrived back at the flat to find Remus standing, hands loosely clasped behind his back, in front of the plate glass wall of the living room. He turned around slowly when he heard Harry come in.

“Can I see your response to Sirius?” He asked quietly.

Harry looked up from where he was taking off his running shoes. “Sure, you can also see the letters from Gringotts and Dumbledore.”

Remus nodded, crossing the room to sit back on a sofa, sipping slowly at his refilled cup of tea.

“I’ll just change,” Harry continued cheerfully as he walked along the corridor to his own room. He rushed through his second shower of the morning, towelled himself dry, and pulled on the jeans and t-shirt he’d worn earlier.

He found Remus still in the same position when he rejoined him. He wordlessly passed him his response, and was glad to see Remus’ nod of approval when he reached Harry’s chosen meeting place.

“You’re sure you can arrange to meet him there in time?”

Harry grinned at him. “I’ll try to fly out this evening or early tomorrow morning, and if I can’t get a commercial flight in time it’ll be easy enough to charter.”

“I meant getting the goblins to agree.”

Harry smirked slightly. “Lots of people have their shady meetings there: Gringotts Headquarters isn’t just in Switzerland for rich wizards to stash their wealth and illegal knick-knacks untraceably. Besides, when I rock up and prove who I am then I’m sure they’ll be only too happy to provide me with a room for an hour or so, bearing in mind what a _valued_ customer I’ve suddenly become.”

Remus rolled his eyes, though couldn’t help but smile slightly. “Can I see the letter from Gringotts?” Harry nodded, handing over Director Bronzeclaw’s covering note. He’d left the list of assets locked in a draw, preferring to keep them private.

He was handed the paper back after a couple of minutes. “I’ve never seen a goblin come up with platitudes before,” Remus mused, before his face darkened. “Not that a werewolf’s allowed to have much in the way of dealings with Gringotts normally. Some of the older, richer packs are supposed to have vaults in Zurich.”

“Maybe that can be changed,” said Harry quietly, “it’s the ICW, after all, stopping werewolves banking. I suspect the goblins themselves would just be glad of more customers.”

Remus didn’t look hopeful, but cleared his expression quickly enough. “Let’s see what Dumbledore has to say to you.” he sighed.

Harry passed him the parchments. “The first one’s a concealed magical contract, and the bottom of the second’s been dipped in a compulsion potion.” He said, knowing that his tutor wasn’t powerful enough to detect their presence without diagnostic spells. “So, as long as you don’t sign that one you’re safe, seeing as the compulsion will only really have much effect on the addressee.”

Remus frowned deeply and cursed softly under his breath at these new tactics.

“I like the offers of help and friendship,” Harry said sardonically. “He’s much chattier in this one than he’s been before, although he must be getting desperate to be using illegal methods that can so easily be traced back to him.”

Remus nodded slowly. “You’re right, he must be worried,” he agreed.

“I think I will go to Hogwarts this year,” Harry continued casually.

Remus actually dropped the letter in his shock as his head snapped round to face him. “No!” he exclaimed, managing to make even that one syllable sound strangled.

Harry waited a few moments, picking up the dropped parchment to give Remus time, before speaking. “We’ve discussed this,” he began, “I have responsibilities in England; if what Sirius claims is correct then I’m now _two_ of the Twenty. We all agreed that I’d have to wait at least until I inherited to go back, and I’m fourteen now. I can handle Dumbledore.” He continued confidently. “I’m brilliant, really fucking brilliant, and I want to test myself at last. We don’t really know what’s happening, and we’re not going to find out on the run.”

Remus didn’t look convinced at all by this, so Harry decided to change tactics.

“Look,” he began earnestly. “I love you and Aunt Mim, and I’ve had an incredible time travelling the world for all of these years, but I want some stability. I want to be able to live in the same place for more than a few months, to call somewhere home. I need to build a life of my own, have friends who I can see in person, and who know me for who I am, rather than just ones I can write to occasionally.”

“It’s not safe.” Remus said softly.

“Life isn’t.” Harry responded sharply, “Particularly mine. The Potter titles and inheritance should give me nearly as much security as the Evans money does in the muggle world, even with the prospect of a war and a Dumbledore.”

Remus lowered his head slowly, knowing it was no use arguing with Harry when he was like this.

“Besides,” Harry continued, hammering another nail into the coffin of Remus’ flight instinct, “I suspect I can’t give Sirius the formal asylum he needs without claiming the Black inheritance, and actually being in England to protect him.”

Any remaining defences crumbled at the prospect of abandoning the man who had been his friend once again.

Harry saw that he had won, and felt a distant satisfaction, but no triumph. “You don’t have to come with me, of course,” he began, “and I would never try to make you. I can give you all of the money you’d need to live comfortably for the rest of your life, wherever you choose.” He smiled gently, and continued jokingly, “You can be free of me at last. You keep saying that I’m intolerable.”

Remus suddenly hugged him. “I’m not going to abandon you Harry, _never;_ it looks like I’ve made that mistake once already. I’m with you.” He breathed into Harry’s ear.

Harry returned the hug and smiled at Remus. “Thank you.”


	2. Informing Auntie

A car arrived just after midday to take Harry to the restaurant, at an address his Aunt had texted him. He smiled internally as he got out and thanked the driver, when he saw that it was French. Aunt Mim had started complaining about the local cuisine a couple of weeks previously, and was now patronising only European establishments. Thankfully Catalina was classically trained, and versatile enough to be able to respond to his Aunt’s whims.

He gave his name to the Maître’d, who guided him to a corner table absent of Aunt, but generously stocked with water and a selection of fresh bread.He’d just finished buttering a roll when his Aunt turned up with her usual buzz of activity; handing off a coat to one attendant whilst ordering a glass of white wine from another and talking into her phone.

She smiled at him as she sat, finishing her call and dropping handbag onto the ground beside her. “Sorry about that,” she apologised smoothly, “it’s been frantic this morning.”

“It doesn’t show,” Harry assured her, smiling at as he offered the bread.

“Thanks. How’s your morning been?”

“Busy.”

She raised an elegant eyebrow at him, the only concession she would make to curiosity.

Harry elaborated, deciding not to play games with his Aunt when the conversation was going to be so important. She had given him space that morning, not inquiring about the letters she knew him to be expecting, knowing that he preferred to think and make his decisions in private.

“Did you know I have a magical godfather?” he asked curiously.

Her eyes widened marginally, but she shook her head. “When I received the letter Lily and your father had put in trust for me it made no mention of any other prospective guardians; I mean, you’ve read it yourself. I know they didn’t want you with Petunia,” her voice dripped with distaste as she mentioned her cousin, “but you know they feared that’s who Dumbledore would leave you with, and why they made alternative arrangements. Who is this godfather anyway?” She asked.

“Sirius Black.” Harry said succinctly.

Twenty years of courtroom imperturbability proved insufficient to mask his Aunt’s shock at the name.

Harry himself was wishing that he didn’t have to go through all of this again, although at least Aunt Mim had less personal involvement than Remus. He’d just begun explaining when a waiter came over to take their order. His Aunt frowned at him when she caught him admiring the man as he walked away.

Dragging himself away from the view and back to his story, Harry wordlessly put up silencing wards and a muggle repelling charm that would keep the staff away for the time being. He passed a copy of the letter to his Aunt, who scanned it rapidly, quick mind processing information.

She raised her head to look at him. “You believe this?”

He shrugged faintly. “I think Remus does, and I’m inclined to. It doesn’t make much sense for it not to be true, in my opinion.”

She nodded after a moment. “I agree. I take it you want to go and meet him?” Harry wordlessly handed over the response he intended to send.She pursed her lips. “I’ll come with you.” She said.

Harry smiled at her, glad of the company, and knowing that she could be trusted to keep her head; something he couldn’t believe of Remus. He also thought that she would let him take the lead in talking, and give them privacy if needed. She was protective of her adopted son, but by and large accepted his independence.

“I take it you intend to return to England, then?” She asked, only a faint trace of resignation discernible.

Harry nodded at her, internally amused at how much more quickly she was connecting the dots than Remus. “I’ll be going to Hogwarts and joining the magical world. I think Remus intends to stay with me, but I have no idea what you want to do, and I would never ask you to leave your job or abandon your life for me.”

She looked at him consideringly. “I’ve had several months to contemplate this, and now that you’ve made your decision I can make mine. I’ve been doing this for a decade now; I can easily negotiate a promotion, which would let me work from London for most of the year. It’d mean some travelling, but normally only to The Hague. I understand you’re effectively emancipated now, and will be away at boarding school for most of the year, but I want to be there for you if and when you need me.”

Harry couldn’t hold back his big, grateful smile as he stood to go around the table and hug her. She clasped him back firmly, emotion making her unusually affectionate in public. “I love you.”

She pulled back slightly and looked at him. “I love you, too.” She replied, smiling.

Harry went and sat back down, casually waving a hand to dispel the wards as he did.

“So,” he continued cheerfully, “a seat on the board, madame director.”

She would have rolled her eyes at him if it weren’t so undignified. “Yes, and lots of meetings with boring old men.”

He smiled sweetly. “You could find yourself a sugar daddy.”

Despite knowing him and being used to his outrageous statements, she choked slightly on her wine.

“I’m wealthier than any of them.”

“You could be their sugar daughter?”

She grimaced faintly, but was prevented from responding by the handsome waiter returning with their food, and another bottle of sparkling water for Harry. She actually did roll her eyes when Harry winked at the man as a steak was placed in front of him.

“He blushed,” Harry told her, smirking, with the unfortunate waiter still well within earshot.

“Stop terrorising the staff.” she told him firmly, as she began to eat her turbot.

“He liked it,” he responded defensively.

“Why did I have to have a child that grew up so fast?”

“You’d be a terrible mother for a stupid child.” He said bluntly. “Anyway, you did have a choice...” he pointed out.

She snorted faintly. “I had a letter released by your parents’ solicitors a year after they died which told me that if I didn’t agree to take care of you then you would probably spend your entire childhood suffering abuse at the hands of my horsey cousin and her whale of a husband.”

Harry sobered. “Thank Merlin you agreed to, and managed to get me away without Dumbledore finding out. I couldn’t be more grateful to you for that.”

“There’s no need for gratitude. I’ve been your de facto mother for more than a decade, and I love you as if you were my own son.” She said firmly.

He smiled at her, returning to his meal before either of them got too overwrought.

“The letters from Dumbledore and Gringotts arrived, and were as expected?” She asked after a few mouthfuls.

“They did, and they were.” He replied, deciding not to let his Aunt know about Dumbledore’s change of tactics. Although he trusted her, he didn’t want to cause her unnecessary worry.

She nodded, and they chatted inconsequentially for the rest of the meal. Harry grinned internally when the waiter refused to look at him as his Aunt dealt with the bill, but noticed him staring after them as they left. There were a couple of cars already waiting for them as they stepped out of the restaurant and onto the pavement.

Aunt Mim hugged Harry briefly before saying her farewells, telling him to arrange the flight, and that she would be available from that evening. Harry watched for a moment as her car disappeared into the traffic at the end of the street, before getting into his own.

He called the FBO on the way back to the flat and managed to get a Gulfstream for takeoff around eleven that evening, not bothering to check any commercial flights now that he knew his Aunt was coming too.

Harry decided he’d better write back to Dumbledore when he got back, and after making sure Remus was still sober and apparently sane, he curled up in the living area, resting his parchment on the arm of a sofa. He decided that someone with handwriting like Dumbledore’s would probably appreciate flowery language.

_Dear Professor Dumbledore,_

_I must express my profoundest thanks for your kind concern with regard to my living situation, but would like to offer my reassurances that I have experienced a safe and comfortable childhood. I am glad of the opportunity to write back to you after several years of a rather one-sided correspondence._

_With regard to your invitation, I would be delighted to accept your offer of a place at Hogwarts, for I have always desired to receive an education where my parents earned their own. Before taking up my place, however, I would appreciate the opportunity to meet with you personally, so that we might discuss certain matters face-to-face._

_Unfortunately, normal owls are likely to find me inaccessible; a problem you mentioned encountering in your last missive. I appreciate that you are yourself an extremely busy man, and hold several positions of a hugely important and time-consuming nature in the Wizarding world, but the necessities of our communication persuade me to name a time and place, and pray that you find them convenient._

_Yours faithfully,_

_Harry James Potter_

Harry gave the name of a muggle restaurant in Zurich he’d found online at the bottom of the page, and, after a moment’s thought, asked Dumbledore to meet him there at lunchtime on the 13th of August.

He took another sheet of parchment and began a note to the director of the London branch of Gringotts.

_Dear Bronzeclaw, Mighty Chief of the Harak Clan_ (he’d checked the proper courtesies, as well as Bronzeclaw’s position within the Goblin Nations, in a book he’d skimmed through years ago).

_I would like to arrange a private meeting with you or one of your colleagues with regard to my inheritance. I will arrive at the bank’s Zurich branch at eight on the morning of the 2_ _ nd _ _, and would appreciate the presence of someone with sufficient authority to deal fully with. Following my proposed meeting I ask for a conference room to be provided where I might conduct a personal matter of my own between the hours of ten and eleven._

_Many thanks,_

_Harry James Potter_

He scanned his two responses briefly before nodding internally and summoning a pair of heavy gauge parchment envelopes. He sealed and addressed them to their recipients before folding his reply to Sirius with the same charm that had been used on it before. He slid the pile into the slightly magically expanded pocket of his jeans before getting up to find Remus.

A quarter of an hour later they walked together through the huge mirror at the back of a hotel lobby that comprised the muggle entrance into the magical part of Lima. He dragged his companion to the owl station first, where Harry paid for three international deliveries, and watched as the lady behind the counter selected the owls to go into the vanishing cabinet that would take them to the main office in Europe.

They walked on down the city’s main street, Harry and Remus both safe under facial glamours that would look completely natural but only last a couple of hours. The risk was pretty low anyway, but Harry did bear a vague resemblance to his father, and had his mother’s hugely recognisable eyes, whilst Remus had a quarter of a century’s worth of potential acquaintances at risk of recognising him, no matter how slim the chance was of any of them being in Peru that afternoon.

They spent an hour wandering around bookshops, buying nothing, given the comprehensive nature of their existing collection, before Harry decided to go into a Quidditch supplier and admire the display model of a Firebolt in the window.

“I think I’ll get one of these to take to Hogwarts.” He said to Remus, who had followed him in grudgingly; he had had little interest in flying when it was James and Sirius playing Quidditch, and couldn’t honestly say that his curiosity had developed with age.

“Are you really sure you’ll be good?” He asked Harry.

“Yup.” Came the confident reply. “Even better than my father.”

Remus raised an eyebrow slightly at this, but chose not to question his pupil’s claim, despite not being aware of him having any experience at all on a broomstick.

“We’d better get back to the flat.” He told Harry. “The glamours will start to wear off soon.”

Harry nodded reluctantly before following him back out onto the teeming street outside, which was packed with a huge variety of wizards from all over South America; Lima was the continent’s major Wizarding settlement. Thankfully there were enough Europeans amongst the crowd that Harry and Remus’ glamoured appearances passed relatively unremarked.

Remus sighed when they got back to their temporary home. “I take it Miriam’s going to Switzerland with you?” He asked.

“She is. We’ll probably be back here by the fourth, though.” He smiled. “She’s going to come with us and work from London. To be honest, I think she’s as tired of the nomadic life as I am in some ways. I feel guilty, really. I get the impression she’s delayed taking promotion for my sake.”

Remus, who was less restrained than Aunt Mim, openly rolled his eyes at Harry. “She loves her job; the travel, the excitement, the headlines and attention. She might want to settle down now, but she wouldn’t have preferred to spend her life with you any other way.” He reassured.

“That’s exactly what she says, but I still don’t like the fact that my presence made regular moves a necessity, rather than a choice.”

Remus shrugged. “She tends to decide where we go; she chases the big cases. Anyway, it’s not as if we’ve ever ended up in the wilderness. We’ve always lived in big, developed cities, most of which have had magical populations.”

Harry nodded reluctantly, before turning his mind away from his guardian’s life choices. “After we come back I reckon it’ll take Aunt Mim another couple of weeks to clear up her business here. She’s got the convictions she wanted, and she never liked hanging around to finish up the paperwork. She’s got lackeys to do all that for her. I think I’ll go to England next Monday, dependant on me managing to sort everything out with Gringotts in Zurich. You’re welcome to come over with either of us, of course, or whenever you want to if you don’t mind travelling alone.”

Remus shuddered at the prospect of getting in one of the muggle flying machines without anyone to sit beside and reassure him. It was a fear he had never managed to get over, despite frequent trips on them, and the prodding influence of Harry finding Remus’ terror highly amusing. At least his pupil was understanding about it with regard to travel arrangements.

“I think I’ll come over with you,” he said to Harry, who had been waiting patiently for a response. “It’s not like there’s much to keep me here, and I’d like to have as much time as possible to get settled before you start at school.”

“Worried about the stability of my home life?” Harry replied in an amused voice.

“I want to be there for you as much as possible.” He said solidly.

Harry’s expression softened and he came over to hug Remus warmly. “You always have been, my friend.”

Harry’s packing had gone pretty smoothly, what with only needing three days worth of clothes, and having magically expanded his muggle luggage so that everything he needed for the trip fitted, unwrinkled, into a single, sleek holdall. Having packed for himself, he rang the company they’d been using for transportation and ordered a car for ten that evening.

He spent two hours lying back in bed, reading a massive book on obscure Legilimency techniques that the tutor Remus had found for him in Germany years ago had sent to him. Alexander Fleischer was an obsessive academic, and had thankfully been far more interested in Harry’s head than the identity he would have inevitably uncovered whilst tutoring him. He was one of the world’s leading experts in the Magical Mind Arts, as he called them, and it had taken Remus the best part of two months, as well as the revelation of Harry’s identity, to get him to agree to teach him. Thankfully, Harry had been sufficiently skilled to keep the man’s attention, even fascinating enough to the professor that he’d tried to refuse payment for his services.

It had been Fleischer who had found the partially-complete horcrux in Harry’s scar, and in doing so provided them with practically irrefutable evidence of Voldemort’s survival, and the probable reason for Dumbledore’s locking Harry away with magic-hating muggles. Fortunately the horcrux’s tenuous hold; apparently it was a fundamentally unsound idea to attach one to another living being, coupled with the fact that the final creation rites remained unfinished meant that a fairly simple blood ritual, conducted by Professor Fleischer, had been sufficient to bind the soul fragment to a piece of Manganese-52.

One of the professor’s more brilliant pieces of deductive reasoning had hypothesised that the natural decay of the radioactive material would eventually harmlessly disperse the piece of soul, as long as it was bound to it in the correct way. The professor’s idea seemed to have been correct, and the five and a half day half life of the metal meant that within a year the piece of Voldemort had been torn into infinitesimally small, non-resurrectable, pieces. Fleischer had been delighted with the success of his experiment, and had eagerly tutored Harry in the mind arts for several months after that. Harry had slightly more mixed feelings about the whole experience, but was nonetheless glad to know how the much-rumoured continued existence of the Dark Lord might have been achieved.

Harry dropped the enormous leather-bound tome onto his bedside table and got up to relieve himself before going through to the flat’s main area, where he found Catalina busy making dinner in the kitchen and Remus sitting in the living area with a book and tumbler of whiskey.

“Aunt Mim not back yet?” he asked after greeting Catalina.

“No, Mister Harry. You should not let her work so hard,” she said reprovingly.

“You think I haven’t tried? Anyway, I should tell you that we’re going to be moving to England soon.”

Catalina looked sad, but nodded. “I am sorry you must leave, Mister Harry.”

He smiled at her. “We’re all going to miss you too, and your cooking.”

She chuckled slightly before returning to the stove.

Harry left her to it and went to join Remus in the living area, dropping himself casually into the man’s lap. Remus yelped slightly, moving his book out of the way. Harry grinned at him.

“What do you want?” He asked suspiciously.

“Do I need to want anything more than a hug from my favourite teacher and mentor?” Harry asked innocently.

“No, but you almost certainly do.”

“Well,” Harry said reasonably, “it is my birthday.”

Remus rolled his eyes again. “Presents after dinner, as usual,” he said.

“No clues?” Harry wheedled.

Remus shook his head, and gently pushed Harry off his lap as he returned to his reading.

Harry didn’t have long to pout, however, as his Aunt returned shortly after this rejection.

“The car will be here at ten,” he said as soon as she’d stepped out of her heels and fetched herself a dry Martini. She raised an eyebrow at his efficiency.

“I’ll pack after I’ve changed, then.”

They settled down to eat at the dining table half an hour later, and Harry invited Catalina to sit with them. The food was delicious in spite of Aunt Mim’s restrictions, and they feasted on seafood pasta followed by tiramisu. The conversation was light as they discussed their time in the city.

After they’d finished eating, and Catalina had cleared away the plates and left, Harry, Aunt Mim and Remus moved into the living area for presents. Well, as it turned out, one present, because his Aunt said she wanted to give him hers on the plane. Remus presented him with a handwritten tome he’d had beautifully bound in calfskin, and in which he’d written everything he knew about werewolves, from thirty years of being one.

“There’s information in there which the packs wouldn’t like any human having.” Remus warned him. “But I wanted you to know as much about us as possible.”

Harry’s felt slightly moist at Remus’ presenting him with something so personal, of him being trusted with information that could get Remus killed if it were ever to come out that he’d given it away. He was extremely unusual in being a werewolf without a pack, but who was mentally stable and had knowledge of the way they worked and operated. The book would be worth its weight in gold to many, both those with an academic interest, and others, who hated werewolves with a passion.

They said their farewells when the doorman rang up to tell them the car had arrived, before going down to the lobby. It took about half an hour to reach the charter airport, the driver rolling straight out onto the taxiway at his Aunt’s instruction.

They were greeted by the captain whilst his relatively attractive first officer stowed their luggage. Thankfully the man who ran the charter company knew his Aunt, and had been happy to take a booking from a fourteen year old. They were in the air fairly shortly afterwards, settled into the comfortable leather chairs as they watched the lights of Lima disappearing into the night.

Aunt Mim finally addressed Harry. “I didn’t want to tell you about my present in front of Remus because that rather defeats its point.” At this she picked up the slim attaché case she’d brought with her, opening it on the table between them. She took out a sheaf of papers, handing them wordlessly to him.

Harry’s eyes widened as he looked at the photos. He looked back up at her. “I don’t know what to say, except thank you. It’s beautiful.” He paused. “But why couldn’t you tell me about this in front of Remus?” He asked curiously.

His Aunt smiled at him. She shrugged. “Between us the Potters and the Evans have got properties just about everywhere else in Europe, but we’ve had them for a long time. The ownership of the muggle properties is comparatively in the public domain, although I have little idea about the magical ones. This house should be effectively untraceable to you, although it is yours. I had my contacts drag the finances through a large number of foreign holding companies and offshore accounts.” She smiled again. “I thought you might appreciate having a safe haven in the muggle world, and I know how much you loved Istanbul anyway, so at any rate you have somewhere you can stay when you visit.”

He grinned brightly at his aunt, before getting up to give her a hug.

“You’re very affectionate today,” she noted with amusement.

“I’m just happy.” He replied. “And excited,” he added.

She smiled. “I’m sorry we never do much on you birthdays,” she apologised, “but when we settle down in England we can celebrate them properly.”

He shrugged at her. “It’s my decision not to do anything special. I just don’t want it to all seem forced, as it would with just the three of us. Besides, we don’t do any more for your and Remus’ birthdays.” He said logically.

She accepted this mutely before reclining her chair to sleep.

Harry was too awake to follow her, and spent the next few hours staring absently out of the window at the stars and contemplating his new life. He would actually be able to make friends, hopefully, with whom he could have more than the careful correspondence he was currently limited to with those he had made, and been forced to abandon, around the world. He considered idly that he might even find a boyfriend, well, if anyone was willing to get that close to him when they realised how much danger he was likely to attract.

He sighed quietly before forcing himself off into sleep.

He woke just after the plane took off out of a refuelling stop in Lisbon, to find his Aunt typing serenely away on her laptop.

“Morning,” she said absently, “two hours until we land in Zurich.”

He nodded, and went into the small bathroom at the rear of the plane to rinse his face and brush his teeth, admiring himself in the mirror for a moment afterwards before returning to the main cabin.

He returned to his seat quietly, slipping his own laptop from the sleeve that protected it from ambient magic most of the time. He’d managed to scan a large number of the books he and Remus had collected on their travels onto the computer, carefully filing them by subject. He’d also separated off some of the ones that magical authorities might consider more questionable, including a number that even Remus didn’t know about.

He read voraciously, and his Occlumency-enhanced memory was thankfully sufficient for him to remember almost everything word for word, as long as he’d concentrated on something in the first place. He drew out a fountain pen and sheet of parchment from his holdall, and jotted down the classes he’d decided to take at Hogwarts, to give to Dumbledore when they met. He wondered whether he could go to one of the countries less restrictive of the Dark Arts to be examined in the subjects that most European ministries had banned, but decided to worry about that closer to the time.

He hadn’t booked a hotel because he knew that his Aunt preferred to choose her own, and that it was something she would already have arranged that morning before he woke; his Aunt always rose early and her own comfort was important to her.

He read a couple of chapters of a book on Amerindian rituals before deciding to catch up with the Daily Prophets he hadn’t managed to look at over the last few days. Having a subscription to a British paper whilst living in Peru meant that a whole week’s worth was delivered at one time, and with the most recent still a day behind events.

He was caught up with happenings, though few of them actually interesting, by the time the plane touched down. They stepped down onto the tarmac, his Aunt giving the captain and first officer their thanks and a day off, but requesting that they stay on call after that, clearly not wanting to take any chances with when they might want to leave. A car came past the barriers and drew up beside them as she spoke to pilots.

They were driven to a hotel in the centre of the muggle city, where his Aunt had taken the largest suite available. They were both fluent in French, which endeared them to an efficient staff who were apparently used to foreign bankers shouting at them in English.

The suite was tasteful, and enormous. Their temporary butler proudly showed them the panic room, and earnestly assured them that all of the floor-to-ceiling windows were bullet proof, apparently convinced that being shot at from the roof of a neighbouring building was their major concern. Harry repressed a smirk as his Aunt nodded patiently at the man, before dismissing him to bring them lunch.

Harry agreed that his Aunt would come with him to the initial meeting at Gringotts. She’d never met a goblin, but had considerable financial experience to support Harry with if necessary. She would give him some time alone to meet with Sirius once they were both convinced of his sincerity, and then return to Lima with him.

“I’m going to have to abandon you after lunch, I’m afraid,” Aunt Mim began, once they’d sat themselves down.

“I suspect I’ll manage. What do you need to do?” He asked.

“I confess I had a slightly ulterior motive to flying out here with you. The chairman’s coming down from The Hague to talk to me about a seat on the board.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “They must really want to keep you if he’s prepared to drop everything at such short notice.”

She smiled wryly. “Oh, they’re not letting go of me, that’s for sure. I suspect I can demand whatever I want from them, to be honest; they’ve been badgering me about promotion for ages, and my working from London is hardly going to strain resources.”

“So what will you actually do?” He asked curiously.

“Attend meetings a lot of the time, coordinate prosecutors. I’m most likely to be managing people doing what I’ve been, giving them cases and so on. Luckily, I’m probably going to be able to escape most of the spreadsheet work as accountants are already unfairly represented on the board. I might be able to take some cases on at the courts in London, but I can pick and choose those.”

Harry snorted. “You’ve been picking and choosing for years. The board’s never been able to refuse you anything.”

She smiled. “I’m good. They know it. They also know that I’m independently wealthy and that they need me more than I do them.”

“So it won’t be long before I’m reading about you in the British muggle headlines, I take it?”

“Probably not.” She grimaced slightly. “They’ll want to make something of my new appointment. It’ll be good PR to help the tribunal move on from that ridiculous scandal.”

Harry’s eyes widened innocently. “You mean the chairman w _asn’t_ sleeping with that neo-Nazi sympathiser?”

It was her turn to snort. “Of course he was, but to all accounts the girl is actually rather sweet, and her convictions were certainly not as deeply held as they were made out to be. God, I hate the press, mindlessly tarnishing the reputations of their betters.”

“You love the press,” Harry contradicted amusedly. “You get off on the buzz, the credit, the idea that what you do actually _matters_ to people.” He grinned. “It’s quite sweet really. Part idealistic, and part attention-seeking.”

She glared at him. “I am not attention-seeking.” She said vehemently.

He smiled, but refrained from responding as the butler came back with a trolley filled with a selection of salads and waters.

“You know, I might be more inclined to believe that of you if it weren’t for the constant supermodel diet.”

“You’re nearly as vain as I am. You just have the advantage of a young, male metabolism.”

“I also go to the gym, practise martial arts, or run almost every day,” he pointed out.

“You have the time to.” She grumbled back.

He changed the subject. “I think I’ll explore the city this afternoon,” he decided.

“Fine. You have fun while I’m stuck in an office with a stuffy old man.”

“You’re going to need to work on that attitude if you’re to work more closely with him.”

She smiled pleasantly. “I’m sure I’ll manage.”

They parted ways after lunch, and Harry spent the day wandering around Zurich, enjoying the crisp air and clean streets. The locals all seemed friendly enough, if a bit self-absorbed. He found the muggle entrance into the magical part of the city pretty quickly.

Ultimately, he didn’t end up actually doing much, too caught up by the prospect of his meetings the following day to fully concentrate on his surroundings. He and his Aunt, whose meeting with the chairman appeared to have gone well, had dinner in a quiet corner of the hotel restaurant before retiring to bed. Harry was only thankful that Occlumency allowed him to bring on sleep fairly easily. He had never quite mastered his Aunt’s knack of being able to power nap for a few minutes, seemingly at will. At least the bed was comfortable.


	3. Bankers & Criminals

Harry drew on a suit the following morning; one of the ones he had for attending particularly formal events or restaurants with his Aunt. _Sharp, grey, expensive. Exactly the sort of thing to meet a banker in,_ he thought, satisfied. Taking an overcoat from his bag, having predicted correctly that Switzerland would feel uncomfortably cool after Peru, he walked out of his room to find his Aunt already seated at the breakfast table.

She looked up from her phone as he sat opposite her. “Morning,” came the smiled greeting, which he returned before helping himself to fruit and cereal.

“You know where we’re going?” She asked once he was settled.

Harry nodded. “I found the entrance to the wizarding part of the city yesterday. It’s in a hotel nearby, and from there it’ll be easy enough to find Gringotts.”

“Will you glamour yourself?” She asked, familiar by now with many magical terms.

He nodded again. “I’ll wear one until we’re at the bank itself. I can take it off in front of the goblins, they can see through most of them anyway, and the building will have enchantments to strip the others.”

His Aunt checked her watch. “You said we were to be there for eight?”

“I did. I take it you’ve had a car waiting?”

She nodded before rising, slipping her phone into her bag before walking to the lift with Harry. The car journey was short and Harry used the time to apply his glamour before taking his Aunt’s hand as they stepped into the revolving door at the front of the hotel. They went around once completely, Harry letting a bit of his magic out from behind his usual barriers for the entryway to detect. The world outside the circle of glass and brass whirled and became formless light, before rendering a moment later and letting them step out onto a street as pristine as the muggle ones they had come from. Magical Zurich seemed to be fairly small, at least in comparison to some of the places they’d been.

That seemed logical, Harry thought, when it wasn’t a formally ‘governed’ settlement, but rather something more amorphous that had grown up around the Gringotts headquarters being located there. He’d been right, Harry thought wryly, when he’d said the bank would be easy to find. Directly across the street from them was a huge construction of marble and steel, enormous letters above double doors confirming it to be their destination.

They went straight in, two suited goblins holding the doors open for them. Harry felt the prickle of magic scanning them for hidden weapons. He let his glamour drop when he felt it being prodded at gently.

A second pair of goblins opened another set of doors. Harry was relieved his Aunt had come with Remus and him a few times when they visited magical settlements, and that she appeared completely unfazed by the goblins. They entered a large hall full of rows of desks where dozens of suited goblins worked busily.

Before Harry had a chance to see any more they were accosted by a goblin who had, apparently, been waiting for them.

“Lord Potter?” Asked the small, smartly dressed figure, inclining his head slightly.

Harry smiled at him. “I am, and this is my aunt, Miriam Evans.”

The goblin eyed her with faint curiosity. “Of course. My name is Flintnose. I’ve been sent to take you to the directors.”

Harry raised an eyebrow at the plural, but followed Flintnose silently as he took them through the heavy doors at the end of the hall, up a broad flight of stairs, and into a large boardroom where a pair of goblins rose from their seats to greet them.

The first stepped forwards, exchanging a firm handshake with Harry, and then with his aunt. “Glad to meet you Lord Potter, and to welcome you to Gringotts. I’m Director Ironstone.”

Harry concealed his surprise as he introduced his aunt, but he supposed it wasn’t that shocking for the Chairman of Gringotts to be there when it was ‘his’ branch he was visiting. The second goblin greeted him with brief nod. “Director Bronzeclaw. I was gratified to receive such a rapid and well-phrased response to my letter.”

Harry inclined his head. “I was equally impressed by your efficiency in writing to me. Your list of my holdings was also most comprehensive, and cogently organised.”

Bronzeclaw nodded again, accepting such recognition of financial rigour as his due. Ironstone guided them towards the table, where they sat around one curved end.

“I will begin,” Ironstone started, “and then I can leave you with Bronzeclaw to conduct what business you have with him in private. The meeting room you requested, Lord Potter, has been arranged, and Flintnose will guide you there once your business has been conducted.”

“I am grateful that one as mighty as you would set aside time to make such arrangements.”

The chairman continued, apparently immune to charm.

“You, in addition to your London holdings, have a vault here in Switzerland. I believe it to consist contingency funds set aside by your family in case of emergency. All vaults here are rented, by necessity, so that we can keep the funds immediately available,” He paused for a moment, “and to pay for the labour of making them untraceable. The rate for you will be minimal, as a long-term holder who has been deemed a low-risk to the bank.”

“Thank you for informing me. I would have inquired about setting up such an arrangement here anyway. There is no one I would trust more with the guardianship of my wealth than you, _Bol-Dek.”_ He carefully used the gobbledegook for ‘Great-Leader’- the term of address used by goblins amongst themselves for the Chief of the Thirteen Clans.

Ironstone blinked at him before inclining his head slightly.

“It has been... interesting to meet you, Lord Potter.”

He rose, the others following him up as a mark of respect. A pair of goblins held open the doors for him automatically as he marched out.

Harry sat back down to find Bronzeclaw surveying him.

“Now, to our business, Lord Potter. The Potter ring is in the main family vault in London, I believe. Only you can access that vault, so a visit in person will have to be arranged.”

Harry nodded, having expected that. “I anticipate being in London in a few days. I’ll come to Gringotts as soon after my arrival as possible. I will be publicly claiming my inheritance and living in England from now on.”

Bronzeclaw nodded, concealing his curiosity over exactly where the young man had been staying all these years. He had sensed no trace of Dumbledore’s involvement behind any of the arrangements for the meeting, although he had still expected the man to turn up with Harry that morning. Arriving with a muggle aunt was something of a shock, although presumably she had been his guardian.

“I personally have overall management of the Potter accounts,” he continued, “although the investment decisions we have the authority to make are largely guided by one of our traders. I assigned Thistledown myself; many of our established customers are unwilling to trust their investments to a female, but she has achieved remarkable returns over the last few years, and made herself wealthy from her commissions. I hope that you will trust her to continue.”

Harry nodded immediately. “I’d like to see the statements, but contingent upon the returns being adequate I see no reason to change.”

A folder was slid across the desk towards him. Harry passed it to his aunt, concentrating on the goblin.

“The values should be accurate according to the markets as they opened this morning,” Bronzeclaw said, indicating the folder. “The main Potter vault and a few that lead from it are, as I said, only accessible to you. We have no information as to their contents, although your family may have kept inventories at one of their properties, or in the vaults themselves. Management strategies can be discussed with Thistledown; your signed approval given to her will be sufficient authority for the bank.”

Aunt Mim had flicked through the folder. “I wish she was managing my assets, and your Evans trusts, Harry. So far as I can make out the returns are well above the muggle market averages, although I have no idea about the magical world.”

Harry nodded his approval, before turning back to Bronzeclaw and broaching the main subject he’d intended to discuss. “Sirius Black.”

Bronzeclaw nodded soberly. “I have little knowledge of the intricacies of his legal case, but I can confirm that the ownership of all of the Black vaults, save for his personal one, has been transferred to you. You wrote to the Black solicitors, I believe, and I have been asked to convey their response to you personally,” he continued, handing over a large cream envelope. Harry nodded, opening it to find full legal confirmation of the transferred inheritance, signed and sealed by Sirius Orion Black.

He passed the document back to Bronzeclaw, who scanned it briefly. “It is official, then.” He declared. “What style of address would you prefer?”

Harry frowned. He hadn’t really thought over the matter, having been somewhat distracted. He could go by simply ‘Lord Potter’, of course, and no-one would question his decision, but that was unlikely to sit well with the Dark-declared families in Britain, or with the vassals of the House of Black.

“Lord Potter-Black?” He suggested uncertainly, testing the name.

Bronzeclaw nodded briskly. “Very well.”

Harry supposed that settled it then, at least for now. He thought for a moment before asking his next question. “Are the Black vaults managed in a similar way to the Potter ones?”

“They are. The main vault, along with its appendages, is accessible only to you. The other vaults have been largely untouched for a number of years: the Blacks were always mistrustful about others investing their gold. The goblin they’d appointed died a few months ago, and with the sole surviving Black, by name, the subject of a Ministry manhunt, we froze the vaults and liquidated what existing investments we could, adding the resulting gold to the vaults.”

“I assume that Thistledown would be willing to take responsibility for Black investments as well?”

“She would be.” Bronzeclaw confirmed. “It’ll not only help compound her workload, but she’ll be able to shift a number of her existing accounts off onto other, less fortunate, traders. She would be forever indebted to you.”

Harry smiled. “Probably not a bad position for the client to have their banker in.”

“Indeed not,” agreed Aunt Mim.

“The vaults will be unfrozen within the week, as soon as administration has finished authorising the paperwork. Thistledown will be available at your convenience to discuss investment strategies. We await your presence, or your owl.”

Harry nodded his acknowledgement before rising, appreciating the goblin desire for efficiency.

“Well met, Bronzeclaw. May your enemies wash your gold with their blood.”

Bronzeclaw looked a little surprised at Harry’s offering the sort of platitude normally exchanged between goblins of equal station.

“And the heads of yours guard the halls of your wealth.” The formulaic response slipped out automatically, before the director frowned. “I warn you, Lord Potter-Black, that the words of wizards, however pretty, will never fool a goblin.”

Harry nodded his understanding.

They found Flintnose waiting for them outside. He bowed to Bronzeclaw before guiding Harry and Aunt Mim along a series of thickly carpeted corridors and to another large conference room. “Your guest has already arrived, Lord Potter,” he said respectfully, before leaving them.

Harry entered first, holding the plate glass door for his aunt.

They found a man waiting for them, a tall silhouette as he looked out of the window and toward the snow-capped mountains beyond. He whirled around when he heard the faint thump of the door’s closing.

Harry stared at his godfather. The man looked surprisingly healthy for one who had suffered the torments of Azkaban for so long. His handsome face was thin, but not emaciated, his frame slim rather than malnourished underneath a shirt and pair of trousers clearly muggle in origin.

The man took a step towards them, but Harry quickly moved and sat down at the table, followed by Aunt Mim. Sirius positioned himself opposite them after a moment, examining the pair of them intently.

Harry took a sheet of parchment from inside of his jacket, unfolding and placing it on the glass between them. “This is an exact copy of the letter you sent to me. I ask you to swear, on your magic, that, to the best of your knowledge at the time of writing, the statements you make are accurate.”

Sirius looked at Harry for a moment before grabbing the parchment, scanning it quickly. He raised his hand and concentrated for a moment, brushing his thumb over a forefinger. Harry watched, impressed at the wordless, wandless display, as a drop of blood welled and was allowed to fall. Sirius then placed the hand flat on the parchment before speaking in a clear, firm voice.

“I, Sirius Orion Black, once Lord Black and Member of the Twenty, do solemnly swear upon mine magic, life and the honour of mine family that the information laid down upon this parchment is, to the best of my knowledge, the truth, written freely and of mine own volition, with no attempt made to conceal, disguise or misdirect.”

He stared into Harry’s eyes as he spoke. As soon as he was finished, the magic taking hold and making the ink on the page glow darkly for a second before being absorbed into his hand, Harry rose and walked around the end of the table.

Sirius stood to meet him, and they embraced simultaneously, holding firmly to one another.

“Godfather,” Harry breathed in greeting.

“Godson,” Sirius responded happily.

Aunt Mim watched them with a faint smile before standing.

“I’ll let the pair of you speak.” She said to Harry. “I’m going to go shopping, I’ll leave a car for you to join me later, Harry.”

Harry nodded wordlessly, not slackening his embrace.

Aunt Mim left, and a few moments later the two pulled back slightly, Harry dropping his arms to his sides as Sirius shifted his hands to his shoulders.

“So…” He began.

Harry shrugged.

“It’s a long story,” he sighed, “and a fair amount of what I have is only hypothesis.” He pulled away slowly and sat back down, Sirius taking the chair next to him.

“I want to know everything,” he said earnestly.

“I’ll tell most of what I know,” Harry replied, sighing slightly at the length of time this was going to take, but immeasurably glad tobe sat in front of, and speaking to, his godfather.

“My parents knew they were going to die,” he began bluntly.

Sirius’ eyes widened, and he began to form a response before closing his mouth soundlessly.

“I suspect that there was a prophecy; Dumbledore’s famous for loving them, after all. I doubt my parents were supposed to know about it, but somehow found out about its existence, if not the specifics of its contents. Dumbledore made them go into hiding with me, telling them it was for my protection, despite plenty of other parents with young children, people far less valuable to the war effort, being told to fight. He told them to hide in their cottage in Godric’s Hollow, a part muggle town outside of the magical world.

When he began demanding a Fidelius they might have demurred initially, unwilling to put a person at as much risk as their Secret-Keeper, prospective prophecy aside, would inevitably be. Of course, they chose you, their oldest friend. The person who would never betray them.”

“I never did, never would.” Sirius interjected vehemently at this.

“I know that now,” Harry continued calmly, “and the whole thing makes more sense now that I do. I suspect they told their plan to Dumbledore, who knew that you would be at least difficult for the Dark Lord to break. He suggested Pettigrew instead, saying that the less obvious choice, the quietly devoted tag-along of your youth, would provide more security.”

Sirius growled at the mention of Pettigrew’s name, although by now he was frowning in thought.

“Dumbledore managed it. The Dark Lord was then informed of the prophecy, probably something about me being a threat to him in the future, although it may have been more generic, bearing in mind that Lord Longbottom and his wife were attacked at the same time. Dumbledore somehow revealed Pettigrew to be the Secret-Keeper, and probably sent him to the Dark Lord too, just to make absolutely sure Voldemort reached the end of the breadcrumbs.

Voldemort turned up in Godric’s Hollow and killed my parents. I then destroyed that incarnation of him. Pettigrew would no doubt have been killed before the aurors could question him, but before that happened you threw yourself onto the altar and Dumbledore made sure you were sent to Azkaban.”

Sirius looked furious, but let Harry continue.

“I became Dumbledore’s mascot, and was abandoned with my magic-hating muggle relatives. Thankfully, my parents saw enough to take out insurance policies. They worked out who Dumbledore would send their orphaned son to, and arranged matters with a firm of muggle solicitors. A letter was released just over a year after their deaths, telling my mother’s favourite, and by that point sole-surviving, cousin that she had an unknown nephew most likely suffering at the hands of the hated Petunia and her walrus sanctuary of a family, trust me, they’re huge. The year let Dumbledore get complacent.

Aunt Mim, who was the woman who came with me today, immediately investigated and began secretly pushing for a transfer of custody. Luckily, as my mother would have known, Aunt Mim had sufficient influence to keep the proceedings under cover. It helped that Dumbledore was clearly not one to bother with muggle paperwork, so it turned out that I was never officially adopted by Petunia. Keeping everything quiet meant it took a long time, however, and it was an uphill struggle until the three year old me was rescued, nearly drowned, from the swimming pool by a concerned neighbour, after being held under by my cousin. That seemed to help convince the social workers that the existing arrangements were unsuitable.” Harry finished drily, forcing his tone into neutrality as he recalled the still-vivid event that had required six months of counselling to come to terms with.

Sirius’ expression was by now, if possible, even more furious as he contemplated the near-murder of his godson. Harry pressed on before he could say anything.

“Anyway, I was taken away from the Dursleys, thank Merlin, and adopted by Aunt Mim. The Dursleys never knew what happened to me, and unless they’ve seen me in the papers posing with Aunt Mim, which is unlikely when they only read things which reinforce their own prejudices, then they still have no idea. Aunt Mim, much to her disappointment, had to have the child-abuse prosecutions dropped to preserve some semblance of anonymity.”

“And Dumbledore?” Questioned Sirius, his voice barely more than a whisper.

“Wouldn’t have been told for at least a month after the ambulance took me away. My Aunt had the squib he was using to spy on me killed. After that he likely spent a while thinking me dead, before doing some blood spells a Light-Lord should probably not know about with the bones of one of my relatives to find out about my continued survival.

He’s no doubt spent years scouring the magical world for any trace of me, but never bothered searching amongst the muggles he claims to love. He’s apparently sent lots of letters since the age it was reasonable for me to have started reading, but only official Hogwarts correspondence, imbued with a thousand years of locating magic, actually reached me

Two days ago I reached my majority, and decided myself ready to return to England and join the magical world.” He finished, looking expectantly at his companion.

Sirius sat there for a couple of minutes, busy reconciling information before asking a question Harry hadn’t expected. “Have you been happy?”

Surprise stopped an answer for a few moments before Harry replied. “Yes.” He responded honestly. “I love my Aunt as if she were my mother, and she loves me like her own son.”

Sirius’ face adopted a relieved cast before he asked his next question. “What was your childhood like?”

“After leaving the Dursleys, fantastic. My Aunt travels a lot with her job, so I’ve seen more of the world than most people do in a lifetime. I’ve never wanted for anything.”

Sirius looked thoughtful before continuing, clearly selecting inquiries from an extensive list in his head. “And magic? You clearly know about the magical world, and your accidental magic would be out of control by now if you hadn’t received any training, but I don’t understand where you would have got any.”

Harry decided to leave out any mention of Remus for the time being. “My parents recommended my aunt contact a tutor, which she did. He’s lived with us and taught me since I was three. He’s managed to find others in the magical communities we’ve been near to on our travels, so I’ve been taught by specialists in lots of different magics and subjects. We’ve been careful to conceal my identity, have stayed largely away from Europe, and paid well.”

Sirius looked at him consideringly. “You must be bright.” He stated, questioningly.

“I’m probably the most brilliant wizard of my generation, although I admit to not having met many others of it.” Harry said honestly.

Sirius raised an eyebrow, though he could detect no trace of false arrogance.

“You said you were returning to England. You’re going to Hogwarts in September?” He asked, frowning.

“I plan to. I’ve arranged to meet with Dumbledore on the 13th, although that conversation would need to be fantastically counterproductive to make me change my mind. I’ll get what I want from the old man.” He said with absolute confidence.

“You mean to meet with Dumbledore alone?” Sirius asked anxiously.

“I do.” Harry said calmly. “Why? Who else do you suggest I take? You’re likely to still be a declared criminal in two weeks time, and my aunt could be damaged by his Legilimency, as a muggle.”

Sirius’ eyes widened again, apparently not having considered that possibility. “And you?” He asked furiously. “You think that you can face his Legilimency yourself? He has more than a century of experience for Merlin’s sake.”

“You were an auror.” Harry stated. “You must have at least basic Legilimency skills. Try me.” He suggested.

Sirius looked shocked for a moment, but drew a wand from his sleeve, a wand that was clearly not properly bound to him, Harry noted. “ _Legilimens_.”Sirius said firmly, pointing the wand at Harry.

Harry felt the probe immediately and was impressed by the strength of his godfather’s attack, though it wasn’t fuelled by any emotion stronger than a genuine concern for Harry’s wellbeing. Harry focused for a moment as he drew the probe deeper into his mind. Once he had the attack where he wanted it he began to wrap it in darkness, layers and folds of empty space and thought. Sirius’ probe was completely isolated from his own mind as Harry drew more shadows around it, completely disorientating someone who, whilst highly competent, was clearly no master of this particular art. Harry held on a few moments longer before carefully guiding the probe, still tightly wrapped, back toward the mind of its owner with his own Legilimency.

He focused his attention back through his real eyes to find his godfather halfway out of his chair, gasping slightly.

“You alright?” He asked with genuine concern, although he was pleased in spite of himself at the success of his experiment.

Sirius collected himself. “I’m fine. That was... very impressive, a technique I’ve never even heard of before. Dumbledore is still, however, a far more powerful Legilimens than I am, and may be less susceptible.” He warned.

Harry nodded. “But Legilimency is illegal in Britain unless officially sanctioned by the Ministry. Dumbledore, as soon as he realises I know something of Occlumency, will back off for fear of me mistrusting or reporting him.” He snorted. “Though the first of those ships sailed long ago. Besides, I wouldn’t actually let Dumbledore in at all. Try again.” He suggested.

Sirius’ eyes widened as he caught the meaning of Harry’s words, but curiosity about his godson’s capabilities got the better of him once again.

“ _Legilimens._ ”

The darkness was still there, although this time it didn’t reach out to wrap around him. In fact, the disorienting mass of space and sky he had seen before was caught behind shimmering, faceted barriers. The shields were as clear as glass, but the mindscape they sheltered was strangely distorted, the light of the stars that he had briefly noticed scattering its depths reflected off the diamond-like edges of the walls, drawn down into an infinitude of coldly sparkling colour.

After orientating himself he threw his probe against the barriers, knowing instinctively that it was hopeless. Even with that in mind he was shocked at the absolutely unforgiving impenetrability of what he found, as he was flung straight back into his own mind with a hundred times the strength of the initial probe.

He recovered slightly more quickly this time to find his godson grinning at him, though still with one hand resting concernedly on his arm.

“Ok,” he said finally. “You might be ready to meet with Dumbledore.”

The grin widened. “Thank you, godfather. Would you prefer that, or Sirius, by the way?”

“Sirius, I think. I love being your godfather, of course, even if I’ve only just met you, but it does feel slightly ageing. I’m only thirty-seven.” He said, slightly defensively.

Harry rolled his eyes, smiling too. “Of course, Sirius. I don’t know how to thank you for making me your heir, let alone Lord Black, by the way.”

Sirius chuckled. “I never wanted to be Lord Black, to be honest. The inheritance was so much of a poison pill in my estimation that I actually felt slightly guilty giving it to you.”

“Well, thank you anyway. Gringotts and the Black solicitors have confirmed everything to me.”

Sirius cocked his head. “Impressive efficiency,” he commented, “although, it was probably wise to seek at least some assurances before meeting with me.”

Harry nodded. “Exactly. I’ve signed your formal request for asylum, so if you remain on Black or Potter property then there’s nothing the Ministry can do to get at you.”

Sirius hugged him. “Thank you, you don’t know how much it means to me to finally have some safety after a year of being on the run and under a kiss-on-sight order.”

“That’s still in force,” Harry warned him quickly, “although I’ll meet with the Minister and persuade him that it’s in his best interests to rescind it.”

“How on earth do you plan to do that?” Sirius asked incredulously.

“I’m not exactly sure,” Harry said, musing, “but I promise you this; I will not stop working towards your freedom until I’ve achieved it.”

Sirius grinned at him, slightly tearfully. “You needn’t do that. Go to school, I’ll achieve my own freedom. Now I have asylum I can work towards that without having to worry about dementors, or Dumbledore’s influence at the Ministry.”

Harry shook his head. “I don’t abandon the people I care for.”

Sirius smiled at him softly.

There was a momentary pause as they gathered themselves.

“Your aunt’s a muggle. You said you’d travelled a lot with her. What exactly does she do?” Sirius asked curiously.

“She’s the Chief Prosecutor for the International War Crimes Tribunal.” Harry said, letting a note of pride slip into his voice. “Although she’ll take a seat on the board and become a director when she moves to England with me.”

Sirius looked impressed. “She’s also very beautiful,” he murmured.

Harry grinned. “She is, not that I can appreciate that fully.”

“Because she’s your aunt?” Sirius asked curiously.

“Of course not, though incest with a child-guardian power imbalance is deeply questionable.”

“Why, then?”

“Because I’m gay.”

Sirius’ eyes widened in shock. “Um... that’s fine by me, of course,” he choked out eventually.

“Excellent,” Harry said with faint amusement.

“You realise...” Sirius began, composing himself, “that a lot of people in the magical world, particularly the oldest and most established communities, are set against homosexuality.”

Harry shrugged. “Of course, but even if I wanted to there’s not much I can do about it. I’m certainly not going to hide my sexuality to indulge the whims of people stupid enough to cling mindlessly to their own mad prejudices.”

Sirius grinned at him. “You’ll have my support, well, once I’m properly free and it’s worth having.”

“Just hearing you say that is enough. Anyway,” Harry continued before they both got emotional again, “I take it from your appearance that you’ve been living mostly in the muggle world?”

Sirius nodded. “I tried to find you after escaping Azkaban, but after a few months I realised that either Dumbledore had you hidden away out of my reach, despite claiming to have lost you, or that he genuinely had no idea where you were. If his resources were unable to get to you, then there wasn’t much I could do. I decided to wait until you turned fourteen and try contacting you directly, but I’ve been wandering around muggle Europe since my escape. I visited the bank here in Zurich after escaping to source the emergency funds my ancestors always kept hidden away.”

“You’ll live on the Black estates when you return to England?” Harry asked curiously.

Sirius frowned slightly before looking steadily at Harry. “No,” he said slowly, “I think I’ll stick around you, if you’ll let me, of course. I see interesting things happening, and I’ve lacked proper excitement for a long time.” He grinned with his final words, grey eyes lightening with merriment.

Harry just nodded, expecting boredom to drive Sirius into either work or pleasure-seeking once he was away at school. “I’ll be going on to London in a few days time, once I’ve finished packing, basically. Aunt Mim will probably be a week or two behind. You’re welcome to come back with me, but you might prefer to stick around here before coming over to Britain. I believe the protections won’t fully take hold until I’ve been accepted by the Black wards.”

Sirius shook his head. “I’ll come with you,” he said cheerfully. “Where are you living?” He asked curiously.

“Peru. We’ve been in Lima for about three months.”

The grin returned. “I’ve always wanted to see some of South America, but I’ve never had the chance before now.”

Harry remembered that he would have to discuss Remus on the plane, and it was that that tempered his instinctive response to Sirius’ excitement. “Well, now you do.” He said. “Where are you staying?”

Sirius gave the name of an expensive hotel on the outskirts of the city.

“We’re in the centre of town. How about you join Aunt Mim and me for dinner?” Harry invited.

“Excellent. I only arrived yesterday, and haven’t even unpacked yet, so I’m at your disposal.” Sirius grinned again.

“Well, in that case you’ll be able to fly out with us tonight?”

“Sure, if I can get a ticket.”

Harry shrugged dismissively. “Aunt Mim insists on chartering. If we moved slightly more frequently I think she’d use it as an excuse to buy a jet.”

“I’d forgotten how wealthy the Evans family was.” Sirius mused.

“Well, what’s left of it. It’s just Petunia and Aunt Mim now. Petunia was disinherited when she ran away from magic to marry her pet walrus and give birth to a hippo, so Aunt Mim and I are the sole heirs.” Harry paused for a moment, before adding. “Another thing Vernon and Petunia hated me for. The idea that an orphaned toddler they kept locked in a cupboard had a trust fund that dwarfed their own wealth was... somewhat irksome to them.”

Sirius frowned deeply at the mention of the cupboard, but managed to grin nevertheless.

“I’m still tempted to hunt them down myself.”

Harry huffed out a breath. “No mad vengeance, please. This all happened long ago, and I lay nearly all of the blame at Dumbledore’s feet. Having to look after a child who represented everything they hated and, in the case of Petunia, spent a lifetime running away from, brought out the worst in them. They’re not good people, but they were honest in their hatred, and I can’t countenance their deaths.” He stared at Sirius firmly when he tried to protest. “I’ve had a long time to think about it. Aunt Mim has volunteered to have them killed in the past, and my response was the same.”

Sirius nodded resignedly.

Harry stood and hugged him. “I think I’m supposed to be shopping with her now, so I should probably go and restrain her as best I can.” He said by way of farewell.

Sirius nodded, looking slightly emotional. “Thank you... Harry, for everything, really...”

“Don’t thank me until you’re free,” Harry said firmly. “I want to know about everything from your perspective. Including Azkaban.” He added, eyeing Sirius shrewdly.

Sirius winced, his eyes becoming haunted.

“It’s either me, or I find you some professional help.” Harry said, not willing to compromise.

Sirius nodded, then stood mutely as Harry grasped him for a final time and left.


	4. Flying Home

Dinner that evening was surprisingly relaxed, with conversation flowing easily and Aunt Mim, if not quite as obviously taken with Sirius as he was with her, seeming to appreciate the attention nonetheless.

Sirius had brought his case with him, and they were in the restaurant of the hotel where Harry and Aunt Mim were staying, so it was easy enough to leave straight after coffee and drive out to the plane. They were able to get a takeoff slot quickly, Aunt Mim having phoned the pilots as soon as Harry joined her in the city, and within a couple of hours they were out over the Atlantic.

Waking early the next morning to find his aunt working and his godfather still asleep, Harry contemplated how he was going to broach the subject of Remus with Sirius. To be honest he really had no idea how his godfather would react, and was finding it difficult to be objective when he wasn’t entirely sure that he’d forgiven his tutor himself. His Aunt smiled up at him as he passed her to reach the buffet that had been set up. Putting a couple of croissants on a plate and pouring a glass of orange juice, Harry decided to be blunt with Sirius and let Remus and him sort, or not sort, out everythingbetween themselves. It wasn’t really his place to mediate between friends who’d known one another longer than he’d been alive. Well, unless it got violent.

Harry was just finishing his breakfast when Sirius began to stir. He seemed confused for a brief moment before relaxing when he saw Harry.

“Morning,” he said gruffly, before asking, “how long until we land?”

Harry checked his watch. “About three hours now, as long as we don’t have hold at the airport.

“That shouldn’t be a problem,” Aunt Mim interrupted, “ATC wouldn’t dare make me fly around in circles.”

“That one in San Francisco did,” Harry reminded her drily.

“Not the second time.” She returned calmly.

Harry grinned at her before returning his attention to Sirius, who was now sitting with a plate of food. _Well, let’s get this over with,_ he thought, sighing internally.

“Sirius, you remember the tutor I told you about, who’s been living with us, and finding others to help teach me?”

Sirius nodded curiously. “Yes, I meant to ask you about them, actually.”

_Here we go._ “His name is Remus Lupin.”

Sirius’ pureblood training couldn’t hold back his look of astonishment.

“Remus?” He gasped out eventually, looking delighted.

“Yes, I know you were friends at Hogwarts,” Harry said cautiously, masking his confusion.

Sirius was grinning broadly. “I had no idea he was still alive. I didn’t come across any whispers when I was searching for you.”

Harry understood then, and waited for the comprehension he could see slowly dawning on Sirius’ face.

“He didn’t protest.” Sirius said slowly. “He saw me sent to Azkaban and believed I’d betrayed James and Lily.”

Harry nodded slowly at the broken words.

Sirius dropped his head into his hands and moaned softly. Harry saw his Aunt look up concernedly from the corner of his eye, but she went back to her laptop when he gave her a smile and nod of reassurance.

“I’m sorry,” he began inadequately. “He read your letter, and he did believe you immediately from that.”

Sirius shook his head. “He betrayed me. He _believed_ that I betrayed them. The one thing I would never do.”

Harry wanted to get up and embrace his godfather, but knew he had to work through this on his own, at least partly, before having to face Remus. He felt guilty for dumping all of this on Sirius so close to the inevitable confrontation, but hadn’t really wanted to spoil his reunion with his godfather the previous day. At least he could break down here in private, and have a chance to compose himself before they landed.

Harry had debated telling Remus about Sirius’ coming with them when he’d called last night before taking off, but Remus had moved on from guilt to self-pity it seemed, and he’d been sufficiently irritated by his whining to not bother.

The time difference meant that they landed in Lima around breakfast time. Sirius had calmed down somewhat, and assuaged Harry’s guilt over dragging him halfway to Peru before telling him about Remus. They found Remus in the living area when they reached the flat. He stood and smiled at Harry as he came in, taking a step forward. He fell back when he saw Sirius following him, preceding Aunt Mim.

“Harry...” He gasped out, turning to him desperately.

Before Harry could respond Sirius had stepped in front of him. “Remus.” He growled. “I take it we can go somewhere to talk?” He asked Harry, turning his head towards him. Harry nodded and indicated the spare study they kept most of their magical library in, and where Remus sometimes worked.

He watched as his tutor and friend was dragged off by his godfather before facing Aunt Mim, who was looking at him with a certain amount of concern, but had masked any curiosity she might be feeling. He smiled at her reassuringly.

“We’ll let them sort it out. The wards should stop anyone getting seriously injured.”

She nodded. “I’ll need to change, but then I should get to the office. We’ve got a couple of complications. Don’t worry” She reassured when he started frowning, “it shouldn’t be a significant problem, and I hope to still be in England within the fortnight.”

“I trust you.” He said, smiling. “I’ll probably spend a week preparing myself. I’ve no idea what’s going to happen with Sirius and Remus, but I think both of them were planning to come over with me.” His smile widened. “If we have to separate the children then you can take Remus.”

She smiled back, “Fine,” and then went to swap suits.

Harry went back to his room to check a few points he’d highlighted in the political commentary sections of the Daily Prophets he’d read in Switzerland against the almost complete collection of English Ministry Statute Books he and Remus had managed to collect.

His being keyed into the wards allowed him to keep something of an eye on Remus and Sirius, and he knew that, past the initial contact where Remus was basically dragged away, they hadn’t touched one another. Even without listening to the wards, however, he could hear the shouting through the apparently defective muggle soundproofing.

* * *

Harry spent the week in a blizzard of preparation, carefully plotting his return. He mixed long conversations with Sirius, whom he had quickly come to consider a second guardian, about pureblood rituals and customs that he’d been unable to find in even the most obscure books, with hours of research, fitting his plans to the political realities of the situation reported by the Prophet. Remus moped around the penthouse. The fact that Harry and Sirius were ignoring him seemed only to have deepened his sense of self-pity.

By the Monday after returning from Switzerland, Harry had decided himself ready.Both Sirius and Remus had absolutely refused to stay behind, or come on separate planes. Harry briefly debated booking them onto a normal flight, and putting Remus in economy, but decided he wasn’t really that mean, and had managed to book a jet with a separate bedroom anyway, so he could lock one of them up if necessary. Part of him found Sirius and Remus’ apparently childish behaviour faintly amusing, whilst the rest of him sat firmly on Sirius’ side, particularly as the frantic remorse Remus had demonstrated after reading the letter since seemed to have become a mixture of the self-righteous and the defensive.

Anyway, when they boarded the plane that evening, Harry reclined one of the comfortable chairs and forced himself into sleep, unwilling to listen to fourteen hours of bitching, but setting up a ward that would wake him if it detected any violent movements or serious injuries.

When he woke he found the other two sleeping quietly, neither having retreated to use the bed aft, and the plane over flying over the Bay of Biscay. It would be early afternoon when they touched down, so Harry settled down to stare out of the window towards the country he hadn’t seen in eleven years. He concentrated on resetting his body with magic, soothing away any vestiges of jet lag. He would need the full measure of his concentration to assimilate with the Potter wards.

He woke his two companions shortly after, so that their magic could readjust them as well. The day was gorgeous, with the bright sunlight reflecting merrily off the gentle waves in the Channel. Sirius’ voice drew Harry reluctantly away from the sight.

“Harry. Remus has apologised to me.”

Harry rolled his eyes as he grinned at them. “Thank Merlin. Remus, I apologise for ignoring you and, although I still absolutely hate what you did, I forgive you for whatever might exist to forgive.”

Remus’ nervous-hopeful look relaxed into a smile. “Thank you.” He paused. “I should tell you that I’ve decided to apply for a teaching post at Hogwarts this year. I’ll be able to help keep you safe, and to keep an eye on Dumbledore.”

Harry raised an eyebrow at him. “Are you sure that’s wise? It’s basically inevitable that Dumbledore will find out that you’ve been with me all these years. He is not going to like a member of the Order of the Phoenix having kept things from him. He’d only employ you so he could keep an eye on you.”

Remus nodded. “You know that you can trust my Occlumency, however. We can at least delay his suspicions by me applying after you’ve made your return public. I can pretend to have been in hiding and lured back by your reappearance. After that it shouldn’t seem odd that we become close when I was such a good friend of your parents.”

Harry thought this over quickly before agreeing; it would be good to have Remus nearby, in spite of the risks.

“I take it it’s DADA you’ll be applying for?”

Remus nodded again. “It’s what I’m best at, and they’ve only got a couple of professors in the department at the moment. I have the necessary qualifications, and a history of blind obedience to the Light that Dumbledore can milk if my being a werewolf gets out.” He argued.

“And what do I get to do when I manage my freedom?” Sirius whined from his seat.

“You were the one who was so eager to get out of the responsibilities of being Lord Black. Perhaps you could take up bingo?” Harry suggested sweetly. “It’s a muggle game played by elderly ladies,” he explained when Sirius looked confused.

Comprehension dawned faintly. “It’s the one with the numbers, yes?”

“Probably. Anyway, you could always rejoin the aurors?” Harry suggested more seriously.

Sirius snorted. “Amelia’s not bad with the DMLE, but Kingsley was always useless, and now he’s in charge of the aurors. They haven’t been well-lead since Mad-Eye was forced to choose between paperwork and retirement.”

Harry found himself slightly exasperated. “You mean you spent a year on the run, plotting your return, and never gave any thought to what you would do once you actually had returned?”

Sirius scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. “I didn’t really think much beyond finding you and getting you to believe me.”

Harry grinned at Sirius in spite of himself. “I’m flattered by the importance you give me, but you should probably think about what you want to do before you end up bored out of your mind.”

“I thought you wanted me to spend all of my time with a psychiatrist?”

Harry sighed; professional help was something Sirius kept insisting he wasn’t in need of. “It gives you something to do,” he pointed out. “How about we make a deal? I’ll find you a psychiatrist and you’ll meet with them a couple of times a week. When you find yourself something to do full-time then we’ll drop the sessions.”

Sirius narrowed his eyes at him suspiciously, but gave in with a sigh. “Fine, if it’ll give you some peace of mind.”

“That’s what I hope the counselling will do for you.” Said Harry.

Sirius grunted and Harry returned to admiring the warmly lit countryside beneath them, even if was only the muggle parts of Britain.

They took a car into London and had it drop them off outside of The Leaky Cauldron, which Remus assured Harry was the most discreet muggle entrance onto Diagon Street. Harry arranged for the driver to park somewhere and wait for them whilst they went to Gringotts, trusting magic to keep their luggage secure in the muggle world. They’d decided to clear Harry’s business with the bank before risking committing to staying in England without that security.

The pub was dusty and dimly lit when they entered, but Harry could feel the strength of the muggle repelling charms as an increasing prickle against his skin as they moved through towards a courtyard at the back where Remus tapped a series of bricks in a wall.

Harry felt slightly intoxicated by the strength of the ambient magic as they stepped through the newly formed archway and into the broad and sun soaked avenue beyond. They’d joined Diagon Street towards the bottom, a few shops up from the junction where it divided into another, marginally less respectable street which led eventually to Knockturn Alley, and the beginnings of a smart residential district.

Diagon Street itself was neatly paved in granite and lined with impressive lime trees. The shops, many brightly painted, all seemed to be neatly kept. The main shopping street of magical London was, unsurprisingly for one of the largest settlements in the magical world, packed with people. Harry was immediately thankful that the three of them had gone to particular trouble with their glamours.

Remus and Sirius chatted away happily as they walked up towards Gringotts, whilst Harry enjoyed the atmosphere with only half an ear on their conversation. Most people spared the three of them, handsome, but not unusually so under their glamours, barely a glance.

They reached Gringotts eventually, a broad neoclassical edifice in ivory marble. The uniformed goblins on either side of the doors eyed them carefully as they entered. Harry heard Sirius and Remus gasp on either side of him as their glamours were dragged forcibly away. He held his for a moment, testing the strength of the enchantments before he let it fade painlessly.

The silver framed pair of doors they went through into the huge lobby sang with powerful wards, bound deeply into the earth and stone beneath the building, tied to the blood and bone of the Harak clan that ran the bank’s British branch.

They stepped onto the polished parquet to find themselves ushered off into an anteroom by a waiting goblin before they could draw the attention of the couple of score wizards queueing. Remus extricated himself quickly, satisfied that Harry was safe in the bank and deciding that this was business best conducted without his presence.

“Lord Potter-Black, Mr Black” The goblin addressed Harry and Sirius, bowing slightly, once his guests were seated. “I will inform Thistledown that you have arrived. She would have been waiting for you herself had she known the time of your proposed arrival.” He finished, looking as anxious as a goblin could.

“That’s not a problem,” Harry said warmly, “I said today in my letter, but didn’t have much idea what time we would make it. I am instead delighted to have made your acquaintance in her place.”

The junior goblin looked confused and left. Harry suspected that flattery was not something their race tended to deal in. A couple of minutes later they were joined by the first female goblin Harry had ever encountered. She was as tall as he judged the average male to be, and he thought her long brown hair, tied back into a neat ponytail, looked peculiar against her wrinkled greenish face. The dark eyes, however, were sharp with intelligence, though the warmth they also held seemed genuine enough.

He rose with Sirius to greet her, extending a hand as they eyed one another before inclining their heads, her marginally more than him.

“Trader Thistledown.”

“Lord Potter-Black. Might I invite you to adjourn to my office, with your companion, of course.” She added, acknowledging Sirius.

He nodded, and followed her silently through the door she had entered by, and along a brightly-lit and thickly carpeted corridor to a spacious and well appointed office, window noticeably unenchanted and showing an excellent view of the elegant street outside. They were indicated towards a pair of comfortable chairs in front of the large desk, Thistledown waiting for them before taking her own seat.

“I am honoured to have been kept on as the manager of your investments.” She began. “I am also led to understand that I am to take instruction with regard to the Black vaults?”

“You are. My aunt and I have both been impressed by the statements we have seen, Sraga-Rem.”

She smiled thinly at the epithet; translating roughly to ‘Wise-One’ it was considered the highest form of praise reserved for financial merit alone amongst the goblin tribes.

“The Potter assets we hold,” she began, “are divided, well, the ones with a financial value we can accurately assess, between the few galleons held in the vaults we can access, the stakes in various companies Potters have made and trusted the bank with knowledge of and limited control over, the property portfolio you have here in London and we manage, and the monies I trade with the director’s permission in your name.”

Harry nodded. “You can give me rough percentages?”

She smiled. “Exact ones, accurate to this morning. The long-term shareholdings amount to seventy three point three percent of the total value, the properties, we think, to twenty and a half percent, the monies I trade fluctuate in real terms on a daily basis, but I can access five percent of the total value. The remainder is the completely liquid capital in the vaults.”

He nodded again. “I’ve reviewed the list of the long-term holdings the bank sent me, and these...” he continued, passing across a few sheets of parchment, “are the ones I would like to be liquidated, though not rapidly enough to disrupt the price. These...” he handed over another page, “are the companies I would like to increase or gain holdings in. The stock percentage targets should all be there, as well as the maximum buy prices.”

Thistledown nodded as she studied the lists. “These aren’t the sort of investments I specialise in, but I will have it arranged. You seem to have covered everything most comprehensively.”

Harry continued, withdrawing yet another parchment from the nondescript robe he was wearing. “This is authorisation to give you access to seven percent of the total funds for market trading. I think the standard commission you currently take is reasonable, but I’ve also detailed targets which, if achieved, will give you a generous bonus.”

She actually smiled at that. “I am grateful for your trust, Lord Potter-Black, and will endeavour to repay it.”

“I would expect nothing less.” He said gravely. “I understand the property holdings comprise largely of two squares of houses near the Ministry?” He asked.

“I believe so. I represent your interests within the bank, and have familiarised myself for this meeting, but do not actively manage any of the property myself. I have been informed by my colleague that most of the houses are held by senior Ministry employees on short-term leases.”

“That seems fine.” Harry agreed. “My written permissions were sufficient to furnish you with the Black asset lists and outstanding instructions?”

“They were. I have copies here for you,” she said, pulling a couple of thick folders from a drawer of the desk.

“Thank you. I’ll review these and send on instructions. Would you be able to summarise the Black policies as they were before everything was liquidated or frozen?”

She nodded. “The Blacks were largely mistrustful of goblin wisdom, and we suspect that much of the family’s wealth was never held by Gringotts at all.”

Sirius interjected. “That’s probably true. My father at least was paranoid, and they wouldn’t have locked themselves up during the War with their gold stashed in London.”

Thistledown continued. “Nonetheless, the Blacks still have some gold in the investment vaults, although again the contents of the main vault are unknown to us. None of their gold was entrusted to any of our traders. About half was kept in vaults, twenty percent in investments made in the twenty years before Greydoor’s death, which we subsequently sold off, and the remaining thirty comprises a few properties in London, and investments made by members of the Black family itself, which we have no right to do more than hold and do what we can to preserve the value of.”

Harry nodded. “I’ll need a couple of bearer books.” He noted. “I take it you can have one prepared that will draw on the Potter vaults, and another for the Black?”

“Of course. One has been printed for you already for the Potter accounts.” Thistledown said, picking up a bound stack of parchment leaves about the same thickness as but significantly larger than the muggle chequebooks Harry was used to. “I’ll have one in the Black name prepared and sent on to you.”

“Thank you, now,” Harry continued, “would it be possible to have someone take me to the main Potter and Black vaults?”

She nodded briskly. “Certainly. I’d take you myself, but I don’t actually have the authorisation to go to the deepest vaults.”

They were taken to another office to meet Bronzechain, an impressively tall and muscular looking middle-aged goblin who introduced himself as the bank’s Chief of Security, before marching them off down a series of corridors and flight of steps, eventually reaching a large cart well lit with lamps and comfortably furnished with cushioned seats.

Harry and Sirius both found the ride exhilarating, the torches on the cave-like walls of the tunnel guttering at the speed of their passage. They passed underneath a waterfall, the magic of whose waters Harry felt claw aggressively at the glamour on his forehead. Luckily it had been settled there long enough, and was a strong enough and small enough blood-bound spell, to hold firm.

The track ended when they were several hundred feet underground, and Bronzechain had them stand and walk through a huge cavern where a milk-white dragon was curled up against the wall. The dragon’s enormous pupils eyed them curiously, having settled from its slightly raised position after identifying Bronzechain.

The far side of the cavern held a heavy iron gate. A key which Bronzechain appeared to conjure from thin air dealt with that, and they proceeded into a broad passage lined on either side with vault doors, a second mine track running down its centre.

Their escort ushered them into a second cart, identical to the first, and they set out as quickly as before, past the vaults of the wealthy before dropping down a steep incline. This journey was much shorter, and finished when the cart arrived before an entrance blocked by bars of sickly green magic.

They stepped out to face it, and Bronzechain graced them with a positively demonic grin. “Every bar a trapped killing curse,” he chuckled to them, drawing a live mouse from his pocket and tossing it at the gate. It dropped limply to the ground as soon as it came into contact. Harry forced his face into immobility as he watched the gate swing open.

“Only a very specific type of mouse upon which certain enchantments have been cast by myself would satisfy the gate,” Bronzechain assured them as they stepped through into a vast circular room, its high ceiling a smooth dome and its floor darkly gleaming polished granite.

“The vaults of the Twenty.” Bronzechain declared, indicating the doors that ringed the room.

“The Potter vault first, please,” Harry requested. Bronzechain nodded briskly and led them to a door halfway around the left side. A statue of a griffin stood in the bronze mass, rear half sunk into the metal, but with enormous eagle’s head and lion’s forelegs visible. The head rose as they approached and ruby eyes blinked open to study them.

Eventually they settled on Harry and indicated him forward. He stepped into the reach of the creature and instinctively raised his hand. The huge beak slashed forwards, carving a significant gash into Harry’s palm. He froze, keeping his hand extended as he blocked the pain and watched the creature’s metallic tongue lick the blood from the edge of its beak. The flavour seemed to be contemplated for a few moments before the head nodded slowly and the creature sank back into the metal.

Harry stepped forwards cautiously, pressing his miraculously healed hand against the cool, flat surface. The whole door melted away at his touch.

“I take it it worked?” Sirius asked.

It took him a couple of moments to realise that neither Sirius nor Bronzechain had seen the door disappear. He took that to mean that they wouldn’t be able to enter either.

He stepped through the archway and into a big rectangular room sheathed in pale green marble. A number of doors led off from the main vault, and large chests and delicate tables topped with glass display cases filled the spaces in between. A circular table dominated the centre of the room. The sole object that stood on it had been the focus of Harry’s attention from the moment he entered.

A lightly tanned hand, still with wrist and several inches of forearm attached, reached up out of a marble slab, fingers loosely extended.

He approached it slowly, realising exactly why it was there. Sirius’ words from the letter came back to him. ‘T _he ring itself cannot be removed from the finger of the last Lord by any but the new.’_ He stared at his father’s right hand, flesh youthful and unmarred by decay. The House ring would normally be taken by the heir from the finger of the Lord upon the inheritance, be that at some decided point before their death, or immediately following it. He assumed that in the case of the mantle not being picked up immediately then the ring itself would take steps, namely severing the limb it was attached to from the body and transporting itself to a place it considered safe and accessible to the heir.

He reached out to pull the ring from his father’s finger. It tingled slightly when he touched it, but slipped free easily, apparently eager to unite with its new owner. He examined it in his palm for a few moments; an elegant gold band, the rich yellow of a pure carat hardened from impractical softness with magic, surmounted by a large, blood red, rectangular diamond. The stone had the rampant griffin of the Potters minutely engraved into its face.

He drew in his breath and cleared his mind before putting the ring onto his right ring finger. The band immediately tightened to create a perfect fit, but too much information was flooding his head to pay any particular attention. The enchantments on the ring’s stone scanned his head gently.

Once the ring had judged him it stepped back and allowed his mind to be swamped, becoming a conduit. He sensed the larger Potter properties reaching out to him, cocooning him in their wards, expanding his mind with the knowledge of their secrets. The process was interesting, and not at all painful as the partially sentient ring and properties seemed actively eager to meet him, interested in this new activity after a decade of loneliness.

Sirius had told him he was happy to wait for as long as it took, but Harry didn’t want to leave him alone for too long. With this in mind, and once the hum of wards and information had died down into a gentle stream that could be redirected into his subconscious with Occlumency, he went to briefly explore a few of the rooms that the polished mahogany doors in the walls led to. He noted that his father’s hand had disappeared. Presumably the ring’s last independent act of magic having been to apparate it back to the rest of the body, though how it managed that past Gringotts’ wards was anyone’s guess.

Behind a couple of the plain doors were dozens of suits of exquisitely enamelled armour, and robes and dresses made of the finest samites and softest furs. The remainder of the rooms contained fitted cases that stretched up to the ceiling, stacked with thousands upon thousands of musty scrolls. Harry assumed that they comprised the library his ancestors had brought to Britain from Rome.

When he exited the main room he found Sirius sprawled comfortably in a conjured chair, Bronzechain standing stolidly to one side.

“All done?” His godfather called cheerfully.

Harry nodded, showing him the ring.

Sirius eyes darkened slightly as he remembered the man on whose finger he had last seen it, but he smiled nonetheless.

“Right!” He continued excitedly. “Black vault next.”

He led Harry and Bronzechain across the room to the door immediately left of the one they had entered via. Harry rolled his eyes internally as he waved a hand to vanish the chair Sirius had apparently completely forgotten about.

The Black vault’s door was darker than a moonless night. The unknown metal gleamed in the light of the brightly burning torches that ringed the room. The enormous shadow panther that guarded the vault slid its polished head smoothly out of the surface and eyed them calmly through glowing green eyes.

Sirius gestured Harry forward impatiently. “I doubt she’ll accept my blood anymore,” he began, before explaining, “The magic never fully bound itself to me because I had no opportunity to take the ring after my father’s death. It should have, like the Potter ring, managed to transport itself to the vault. Any of the Black properties it would deem itself safe enough at would be difficult to access without it.”

Harry stepped forward and once more extended his hand. A gleaming white fang sank delicately into the tip of his middle finger. The panther looked him over slowly as it tested his blood. The eyes widened suddenly, and Sirius, who had been watching intently, burst out laughing.

“She knows you’re a halfblood!” He exclaimed. “I never thought I’d see her actually shocked.”

The guardian ignored Sirius and slid back into the metal.

“I take it you’ll still be able to come in?” Harry asked his godfather.

“As long as you permit me, yes. Once you put on the ring you should be able to control entry, although it’s nigh-on impossible for anyone not with the actual family blood to enter one of these vaults. Luckily you’re a quarter Black by blood, or Adica here,” he said, tilting his head towards the door the panther had disappeared into, “would likely have been more suspicious.”

Harry pressed his hand against the surface of the door, as he had done with the first. It also melted away before his eyes, and he stepped forward into a large circular room, floor of gleaming obsidian, cave-rough walls curving up from it to form a dome. Despite expecting the hand that sat in the centre of the floor, Harry couldn’t help but start a little at the sight of the ghost-white limb lying limply against the stone, cast into sharp relief by the light of the enormous iron chandelier hung from a chain in the centre of the ceiling.

The room was otherwise completely bare. Harry knelt in front of the hand, which was clearly that of a man who had been much older than his father at the point of his own death. A black diamond surmounted a brilliant platinum band, which formed the body and tail of an exquisitely detailed panther. The cat’s face was caught in the stone’s relief carving.

The ring slipped off easily enough, but felt unnaturally cold. He spent a moment debating where to put it before sliding it onto his right middle finger, where ‘Adica’ had made her incision. It flared with heat suddenly and he gasped quietly as cold claws raked his mind. This was not the curiosity of before, but a hard-edged and thorough search of his mind and being. He let the enchantments have free reign, not entirely sure how to use Occlumency against them.

The ring eventually clinked with a sense of faint approval, and he felt it resize to his finger in the moment before it allowed his mind to be flooded with the knowledge of wards and family secrets it gave access to.

The Blacks were, as he had gathered, clearly less trusting of the goblins than the Potters. The three doors equally spaced around the room led to an empty library, shelves delicately chiselled from the rock itself, a cavernous and completely empty room opposite the entrance, and a smaller chamber which contained only a couple of chests full of silver chalices and instruments he recognised with some distaste as being used in some of the more questionable old blood rituals.

He returned to Sirius and Bronzechain, giving Sirius permission to enter. His godfather stepped in, glanced around the empty rooms dismissively, seemingly unsurprised at their state, and then grinned when he saw the ring on Harry’s finger.

“Looks good on you, pup,” he said cheerfully.

“Pup?”

Sirius shrugged dismissively even as he nodded. “You’re the son of a Marauder. I’m your godfather, and my animagus is a dog. That makes you pup.”

“I’m not entirely sure I follow,” Harry said, before continuing archly, “would that make a daughter of yours ‘bitch’?”

Sirius laughed. “I suspect I’ll never find that one out, anyway, my mother is the bitch.”

“Is?”

Sirius rolled his eyes dramatically. “She’s dead, but she spent years pouring as much of herself as she could into one of her portraits. I have no doubt that that portrait still exists and is going to be a nightmare to get rid of.”

“I’m sure we’ll get along fine.” Harry assured him.

“Good luck with that.” Sirius said darkly.

Harry checked his watch to find it still early in the afternoon. “Let’s find Remus and get the bags then. I take it you still know the hotels here?” He asked, knowing Sirius had lived in London with his family for most of his youth before the War.

Sirius nodded.

Bronzechain, who had waited silently whilst they talked, took them back up to the surface. Harry told Sirius to reapply his glamour, even as he drew his own into place. Sirius frowned, but did as instructed. As Sirius finished casting the spell Harry extended his own magic and, with Sirius’ slightly confused permission, bound the glamour to his own.

They walked out together, and Harry kept the link supported until they’d passed safely through the doors designed to strip concealment charms, before releasing it.

Sirius raised an eyebrow at him curiously. “That was... interesting.” He said questioningly.

“It doesn’t work with many spells, I don’t think, but then I haven’t really experimented. I found the idea in the old journal of a man who used to be part of a team of thieves. He didn’t really put down anything explicit, so I had to experiment quite a bit before getting it to work, but they effectively bound their concealment charms to the thief who was best at them, or magically the strongest, and as long as they consciously maintained them as well, and there weren’t too many bound to the one person, then as long as the subject could keep their own charms up, then the others would stick as well. As I understand it, it was actually designed for doorways like that one in Gringotts, although I don’t think these particular thieves were ever quite brave enough to attempt to rob a branch.”

Sirius looked interested, and chuckled sardonically at the end. “No, I suspect fear of goblin reprisals provides as much deterrent as actual security. I remember coming here with my father once as a child and seeing an attempted thief’s head strung up to one side of the entryway.” He paused. “I think the Ministry asked them to take it down, but it hung there for years, rotting away.”


	5. Settling In

The two of them found Remus easily enough; he’d apparently done some shopping and had come back to hover around the bank’s entrance waiting for them. He, too, smiled when he saw the two rings on Harry’s hand, although he’d glamoured them into plain bands and draped his shields over them to disguise their magic.

They found their driver waiting faithfully by the car, smoking contentedly. He helped them retrieve their luggage, and Remus went back into the Leaky Cauldron to find a couple of willing porters. Sirius turned to face Harry.

“Pup,” he began, “what about Grimmauld Place?”

Even as the name was picked up by Harry’s mind, the house it referred to reached out to him. He felt long centuries of tradition and stoicism secure behind a staggeringly complex array of wards.

“The Black house in London?”

Sirius nodded. “Yes, I assume you can sense it now. It’s been abandoned since my childhood, so even the preservation spells won’t have kept it completely untouched, but it will be considerably more secure than a hotel. And, unlike most of the other family houses, it’ll be easy enough to access without anyone becoming aware of anything unusual, bearing in mind the Fidelius it’s been under for more than a century.”

Harry thought for a moment before nodding. “Let’s stay there then, if it’s inhabitable.”

Remus came back soon after, followed by two squat and particularly burly looking men, who effortlessly picked up a couple of the lightened cases apiece, and followed Sirius as he led the group back onto Diagon Street. After a few minute walk they arrived at Grimmauld Square.

Three of its sides were occupied by large and elegant townhouses. A garden filled the centre, immaculately-kept and divided from the houses by a broad walkway. Sirius led them along the equally substantial path that bisected the gardens, neatly lined with trees. They arrived immediately across from the main street that led into the square, standing midway along its empty fourth side, facing a vast rectangle of grass behind iron railings, which faced onto another square.

Despite being able to sense the house and its wards humming powerfully only feet away, Harry was unsure what to do until Sirius gestured him forward, before drawing a wand and Obliviating and dismissing the porters.

“Press some blood to the railings. The Fidelius has probably bound itself to the house.”

Harry raised an eyebrow at him.

“It wouldn’t work normally, but a house this old and steeped in magic will have become at least very slightly sentient over the centuries, which means that the magic actually had something to latch onto. I don’t think it’s as strong as it would be when bound to the soul of a person, particularly one who doesn’t live here, but it has made the building entirely inaccessible for nearly twenty years. Your blood should effectively ask the wards, and the Fidelius, to bind themselves to you.”

“And if they don’t want to?” Remus asked suspiciously.

Even Sirius looked slightly uncomfortable. “Then they’ll kill him.” He said, before adding hastily, “But they wouldn’t reject the acknowledged Lord of the Blacks.”

Harry nodded, willing to trust his godfather on this. He could feel the house and wards anyway, and sense their lofty curiosity at his presence.

“Why does it always have to be blood?” He muttered softly to himself as he stepped forward, pricking the finger that bore the Black ring with magic and pressing the tip against the point of a railing.

He wasn’t quite able to stifle his gasp this time as he felt the myriad wards suddenly wrap around him, using him and his magic as their focal point. The Fidelius gave way last, a series of weighty strands that seemed to tighten themselves physically in his chest.

“You did it!” Came Sirius’ exclamation, and Harry opened his eyes, not really having been aware of closing them under the sudden flood of power.

The neatly trimmed grass had disappeared, replaced by sprawling, massively overgrown gardens surrounding an edifice constructed from the same fine white stone and in a similar style to the rest of the houses in the square. The railings, now surmounting six-foot perimeter walls, gleamed openly with thick curtains of protective magic.

“I’m a Black, in Blood and Name and Spirit,” said Sirius, using the ritual words, “but you’ll have to give Remus verbal permission to enter, or even see, the house.”

Harry noticed Remus looking at the pair of them curiously, apparently completely unaware of the massive building that had suddenly appeared.

He faced him.

“I, Harry James Antares Potter-Black, Lord Black, do hereby welcome and grant entry past the Fidelius charm of Grimmauld Place, London, to Remus Lupin.”

The words seemed sufficient, at least judging by Remus’ gasp and widened eyes as he stared over Harry’s shoulder.

“Well,” Sirius continued irrepressibly, “shall we go in, my lord?” He added mockingly, fluttering a hand and bowing low to Harry.

“Seeing as I’m holding the disillusionment, you can deal with the cases,” Harry told him.

Sirius grinned, and flicked his wand to raise them gently into the air and draw them after them.

They went through the open gates and up the driveway. A series of broad steps led up to the portico and the great black double doors with their polished silver panther-head knockers opened silently at his touch. Harry let the disillusionment fall with a faint sense of relief.

The three of them were greeted by an ancient-looking house elf, standing nervously in the entrance hall.

The elf eyed them with a frown.

“Kreacher, oh, how I have missed you!” Sirius exclaimed, even as he gestured for the patiently hovering cases to land on the floor around the elf.

“Sirius!” The word itself was barely discernible, hidden as it was in an ear-splitting shriek.

Remus and Harry instinctively covered their ears, whilst Sirius looked apologetic, presumably for not warning them. He led them across the room to stand in front of a large portrait of a woman, still delicately beautiful in old age, dressed in black and covered in diamonds.

“Mother!” Sirius exclaimed in a sugary voice.

The woman, who had fallen silent at their approach and examined them closely out of darkly shrewd gray eyes, snorted elegantly, apparently having quite got over her initial outburst.

“Sirius.” She said in a high, cool tone, holding her head stock-still. “I see you live still, and can only assume that you have taken the inheritance, in spite of mine and your father’s wishes.” At this she was joined in her frame by a man, equally old and distinguished.

“Sirius.” He repeated his wife’s greeting, though in a voice which was, perhaps, marginally warmer.

“Mummy, Daddy.” Sirius replied facetiously. “I’m afraid, however, that you at least, mother, are incorrect in your assumption.” He said, apparently delighted at catching her out.

The face remained motionless, save for an eyebrow rising so fractionally every wrinkle remained in place.

“Tut, tut,” continued Sirius, shaking his head and raising his hand for their inspection, “and you always prided yourself on your powers of observation. But it is not, alas, though I know it would delight you, my finger which bears the ring of cloying responsibility.”

“Then who?” His mother snapped out, before her eyes landed squarely on Harry, and the right hand held casually at his side.

“Come forward, child,” she commanded peremptorily.

Harry raised his own eyebrow at her, but did as she asked.

“Show me your hand.” Walburga Black continued, raging curiosity forcing her to lean forward in her chair.

Her husband was less restrained, and came from his stand behind her to stare with open interest as Harry presented his hand to them. They were silent for a few moments. Walburga’s face remained frozen save for a faint frown, whilst Orion’s, behind a thin mask of pureblood inscrutability, was a mass of confusion.

He spoke first. “You’re a Potter?”

“I am; my father was James Potter.” He began, before adding, “Dorea Black was my grandmother.”

Orion nodded slowly. “Dear Dorea,” he murmured, “I do miss her. Perhaps a portrait of hers could be brought here from one of the Potter properties? I fear she does not have one in any of the Black houses.”

Harry nodded immediately. “Of course, if one exists, and she proves amenable to such a move.”

Walburga had been eyeing Harry thoughtfully with narrowed eyes.

“Halfblood.” She burst out abruptly in a vicious whisper, sudden comprehension now burning in those gray depths.

Harry turned his attention back to her, and inclined his head slowly in acknowledgement of her words, maintaining the icy poise he had carefully adopted.

“To a certain extent,” he agreed, “although my mother was muggleborn, rather than muggle.”

That almost set her back to screaming again. He could see the war on her face between pureblood stoicism and pureblood prejudice. Whilst his wife was struggling, Orion spoke again.

“Well,” he began, frowning faintly, “it’s never happened before, of course, but you do have Black blood, and must possess some redeeming features for the ring and wards to have accepted you.”

Harry smiled at him slightly. “Thank you, I can only pray that my redeeming features prove sufficient in your eyes.”

Orion’s eyes twinkled slightly with amusement. “Well, it helps that you seem intelligent enough, and I suppose that, if you really are two of the Twenty, then the Blacks may once more return to prominence.” The frown returned. “Although I don’t like the prospect of my house playing second fiddle to that of the Potters.”

Harry reassured him smoothly. “I assure you that I possess no such intention. I have had more contact since I was a baby with Sirius, and your wife and yourself, than with my own parents. I am happy to consider myself as much a Black as I am a Potter.”

Orion eyed him for a while longer before nodding, ever so faintly, in approval. His wife seemed unimpressed.

“Orion.” She said sharply, snapping her head around to face him, completely ignoring Harry. “You truly believe that a halfblood Light wizard can be the Lord Black.”

Orion looked at her consideringly. “Perhaps.” He said quietly. “Besides, I fear we have little say in the matter; he is accepted.”

She glared for a while longer, before turning back to Harry with a newfound graciousness.

“I must apologise for my earlier outburst...” here she paused to aim a vicious glare at a wholly unaffected Sirius, “for I find the return of my eldest son somewhat vexing. Your existence surprised me. I have now seen reason, and am sorry to have caused offence. You are Lord Black, my loyalty is yours.” She finished, finally inclining that proud head.

Harry smiled at her, thinking internally that she would give even Aunt Mim a run for her money in the apologising-without-sounding-like-you-were stakes.

Orion finally permitted himself to smile properly. “Welcome to the family, great-nephew.”

Harry grinned back. “Thank you, great-uncle.”

Sirius had finally lost his composure, and was now looking faintly shocked.

He shook his head after a moment, before leading Harry and Remus through the double doors Orion and Walburga’s portraits flanked. He ignored Kreacher completely, abandoning the elf with the luggage.

They found themselves in a drawing room the size of a tennis court, windows looking out over the square. Sirius threw himself down in front of a black marble fireplace set into the wall opposite the windows. Harry and Remus followed him more cautiously, mindful of the spindly-looking furniture.

“Well,” he began, summoning a bottle of firewhiskey from the drinks cabinet, uncorking it and taking a swig before continuing. “They seem to like you more than me.”

The prevalent emotion in his voice was relief, but Harry could sense the hurt beneath the surface. Remus could too, apparently.

“Sirius,” he interjected firmly, “they treated you abysmally. They raised you and judged you according to a twisted and vicious moral code. You should be proud: you broke free. You forged your own path, formed your own convictions.”

Sirius looked startled, apparently having thought he was a better actor, but nodded slowly as he mulled over his friend’s words.

“I suppose,” he sighed briefly. “Maybe Harry can reform them.”

They sat in silence for a while, watching Sirius drink until Remus decided to take the bottle away from him. Sirius glared at him for a few moments, before his face relaxed and he waved a hand around tipsily.

“Welcome to Grimmauld Place! London home of the Blacks for a thousand years.” He said, slurring faintly.

“Thank you, Sirius,” said Harry, before calling for ‘Kreacher’. He hadn’t ever met a house-elf before, but knew about them from books, and wasn’t sure he liked what he’d read. However, he also hadn’t the faintest idea where anything was in the house, and Sirius was in no state to tell him

Kreacher popped into existence in front of his chair, so bent over it took Harry a moment to realise he was bowing and not practising his yoga.

“Master Lord Black! I am honoured to serve you.”

“Please, call me Harry. You can stand up properly, too.”

Kreacher slowly raised his head and looked at Harry through wide, liquid eyes with astonishment.

Harry continued before the elf could speak. “Can you tell me where Sirius’ bedroom is?”

The elf nodded rapidly.

“Master Sirius, filthy traitor, has a room near to poor Master Regulus’ on the second floor.”

Remus joined the conversation.

“If you’d guide me there,” he inquired politely of the elf, “then I’ll take him up to bed.”

The elf looked towards Harry for confirmation, who nodded, before leading Remus and a gently levitated and dozing Sirius from the room.

Harry sighed as he leant back and hoped that Remus would prove sufficient to help Sirius for the moment. He would have to go and meet with Minister Fudge fairly soon. He’d decided to turn up completely without warning, believing that he would be able to get more out of a politician famed for his lack of improvisational skills, even if it was possible Dumbledore would forewarn him.

Kreacher winked back into existence beside his chair with a faint pop, ears once again scraping the floor.

“Do you have to bow every time you see me?” Harry asked, unable to suppress the tinge of exasperation.

“I must not fail show the proper respect to the Lord Black, my lord.” Kreacher replied, voice muffled.

“Fine, until I can arrange a more permanent solution, then I order you not to bow. I also order…” he added hastily, “that you not inflict any punishment upon yourself, whether for self-perceived wrongs or otherwise. I take it by your presence that Sirius is settled?”

“Master Sirius is asleep now,” the confused elf replied nervously.

“Excellent. I’ll be getting some workmen and decorators in sometime in the next few weeks to make the house presentable again.” Harry said.

“Kreacher has failed,” the elf moaned miserably, though prevented from punishing himself by Harry’s edict, he was relieved to note.

“You’ve done an excellent job,” Harry assured him. “But managing such a large house on your own is clearly impossible. I would just like to make sure that Grimmauld Place is once again in a state that would make your mistress proud.”

Kreacher nodded slowly.

“Would you show me to a room please?” Harry asked politely, rising.

Kreacher nodded happily. “Of course, my lord. Kreacher has already taken his lordship’s cases.”

“How did you know which were mine?” He asked curiously.

“Kreacher was able to sense Lord Black’s enchantments.” Kreacher said seriously. “Kreacher is bound to your magic now, and would know it anywhere.”

Kreacher led him up two flights of stairs to the second floor; the ground and first being occupied largely by the public rooms, most of which were double-height. He opened a pair of highly polished doors and led Harry inside.

“The Lord Black’s chambers,” he said proudly.

“Very impressive,” Harry murmured as he took in the large sitting room they were in, and followed Kreacher as the elf led him to the bedroom that led off it. Apparently this part of the building projected partially into the house’s central court, for windows lined the far wall and part of each side wall.A ridiculous four-poster bed stood in the centre, a menacingly black-draped shape stretching up almost to the ceiling. Harry was impressed when Kreacher showed him a well-appointed bathroom adjoining the left hand side of the room, and an equally sized dressing room to the right.

Kreacher moved nervously to the cases stood by the entrance to the dressing room. “Kreacher would have unpacked for Lord Black, but cannot open master’s luggage.”

Harry found himself relieved that even an elf apparently now bound to him was unable to get past the enchantments.

“That’s fine Kreacher, I’ll do it.” He said cheerfully, walking over to unlock the cases manually. He waved a hand to draw the clothes out, noting that the space expansion charms he had worked, which tripled internal volume, were holding well on the expensive-but-muggle luggage. A moment of concentration sent the clothes flying onto rails, separating by type and colour-coding themselves.

“Would you be willing to prepare us a late lunch?” He asked Kreacher, who nodded eagerly.

“If master will give me permission to buy food?”

Harry handed over some galleons, taken from an expanded pocket of the nondescript robes he was still wearing. Once Kreacher had gone, and he’d decided that with Sirius comatose they were unlikely to leave the house again that day, he changed back into casual clothes.

He wandered back through to the main corridor, opening a few doors until he found what seemed to be a study, a study whose door examined him and his magic carefully before permitting him entry. His curiosity and disgust were piqued in equal measure as he looked at the titles of the shelved volumes that filled three of the walls.

He only really noticed the large portrait on the wall behind the desk when its occupant woke and cleared his throat.

Harry turned to look at him, and found a handsome man who looked to be in late middle-age, eyeing him closely out of shrewd gray eyes.

“Good afternoon.” Harry said, slipping back behind a pureblood mask.

“Good afternoon.” The man replied neutrally. “Am I to assume that you are the new Lord Black? I felt the wards shifting and realigning themselves this morning.”

Harry masked any hint of surprise; a portrait should have been able to sense little beyond their own observations.

“I am. My name is Harry.”

“Mine is Arcturus.”

“I am honoured to meet so distinguished an ancestor, and would be further so to benefit from your counsel in the years to come.” Harry replied, smoothly forming the platitudes.

Arcturus raised an eyebrow and smiled slightly. “I am pleased to find an heir who addresses me with the proper courtesy. Might I see the ring?” He inquired politely.

Harry raised his hand once more.

Arcturus frowned, but was clearly a more efficient processor of information than either of his descendants.

“Lord Potter as well, very interesting.” He mused quietly, before frowning again. “Why can’t I feel your power?” He asked, “You’re not a squib, are you?”

Harry actually snorted. “You have so little faith in the Black inheritance protections that you can believe them accepting an heir with no magic? Besides, few wizards can actually detect a person’s magic under normal circumstances, and a portrait shouldn’t be able to do so at all...”

Arcturus glared at him, Harry thought, slightly huffily. “I was one of the greatest wizards of my age. This portrait was painted by Montague Chauxton.” He said, as though these two statements made sense of everything.

Harry thought. Chauxton had been the most famous wizarding portraitist of the mid-nineteenth century, and his subjects were famous for possessing all of the character their sitters had possessed. But that still wouldn’t have been enough.

“You poured a considerable amount of your own magic and spirit into the portrait, I take it?” He asked.

Arcturus actually smiled properly. “I did. An unusual little ritual I adapted, which allowed me to keep both until the moment of my death, at which point the spells took hold and some of my nature was conduited directly into the paint. I believe myself to be one of the most unusual paintings in existence.” He said with a hint of pride.

“You would be,” Harry murmured to himself.

“Anyway,” Arcturus broke back in, not a long way from impatient, “why can I not sense your magic?”

Harry shrugged. “Because I keep it shielded. Even if you were here in person I doubt you would be able to feel anything.”

People seemed to be frowning in confusion a lot today, Harry thought.

“Whilst it’s impressive that you can do such a thing, particularly when you appear to be no older than six and ten, I fail to see why you would wish to?” Arcturus inquired finally.

“I’ve just turned fourteen, actually.” Harry told him.

Arcturus’ eyes widened marginally in surprise, but he was sharp enough not to be diverted, and sat in his high-backed chair, waiting patiently for a response.

“Well,” Harry began, unwilling to be completely tied down in his response to a portrait he could only trust in theory, and suspected was wily enough to escape the loyalty clauses that supposedly tied him to the living Lord Black. “I’ve lived most of my life in the muggle world, deliberately avoiding the magical until I came of sufficient age to inherit, and gain the attendant protections.”

This did seem to divert Arcturus. “Why would you be afraid of being in the magical world?”

“I prefer ‘circumspect’ to ‘afraid’. I suspect you know of Albus Dumbledore?”

Arcturus nodded. “The man was born a few years before I died, I believe, although not to one of the great families. I am told he has carved out considerable power for himself in Britain, or that he had whilst there were still living Blacks able to bring me information from the outside world.” He shook his head, “A light wizard should never have been allowed to gain so much influence.”

“Perhaps not,” Harry conceded. “But anyway, he is the only currently known Lord-level wizard in Britain, which, in spite of his undoubted insanity, gives him considerable power.”

Here Harry recounted some of what he knew, or had surmised, of recent events and his childhood, as he had for Sirius, but including the bits Sirius would have known already. He was impressed when Arcturus’ expression didn’t change when he was told of his mother’s birth status, and found himself surprisingly eager to tell his tale to someone unknown to him, but in whom he could place a certain amount of trust.

He finished about half an hour later, his retelling helped by the fact that Arcturus didn’t interrupt to ask questions, but sat listening intently.

“Interesting.” Was his initial comment. “I never supported Orion and Walburga trying to disinherit Sirius, although I confess it was something of a disappointment when he somehow ended up in Gryffindor.”

He sat thinking. “I think your parents did well, under the circumstances, to make alternative arrangements. I knew of Dumbledore’s defeat of Grindelwald, of course, though had not realised the full scope of the power he appears to have amassed in its wake.” His next comment surprised Harry. “I think I would like to meet this aunt of yours. She appears to be a most admirable woman, in spite of her unfortunate birth.” He nodded approvingly. “From what you have told me your education so far seems to have been more than adequate. I suspect that there are things you have not yet told me of, but I hope that you will come to trust me.”

Harry grinned at him. “Thank you, I desire greatly to benefit from your counsel.”

Arcturus inclined his head as Harry stepped from the office. As soon as he exited Kreacher appeared next to him, apparently unable to access the study.

“Your lunch is ready, my lord,” he said, eyes respectfully lowered, even if his back remained unbent.

“Cheers, Kreacher, could you tell Sirius, I assume Remus stayed with him, and then come back and guide me?”

Kreacher nodded eagerly, disappearing for a short while before popping back to him. He took Harry back down the great marble staircase, and guided him to what he was told was the ‘Small Dining Room’, which still had a table large enough to seat twenty.

Sirius appeared in the doorway, bright-eyed after a nap and hangover potion, followed by Remus. They seated themselves around one end of the table, where Kreacher had laid out three place settings, Sirius bullying Harry into taking the head. The elf arrived as soon as they were settled, levitating a number of plates and cloche-covered dishes onto the table.

Kreacher apologised for not having done anything more complicated because of the time pressure, but still proceeded to present them with a whole dressed salmon, six types of vegetable and a number of salads. Sirius complained about the food, but Harry and Remus complimented Kreacher politely, used to this type of fare from living around Aunt Mim.

“So, what are you going to do for the rest of the summer, Harry?” Remus asked.

“I’ve told Kreacher that I’ll be getting the decorators in,” he said, eyeing the slightly gloomy room, “although I can’t do that until my return becomes fully public.”

“Which will be when?”

“The fifteenth,” Harry replied immediately, “well, the morning papers of the sixteenth, most likely, after the Wizengamot meeting on the ides.”

Sirius nodded, looking slightly confused, but he had already come to trust his godson, and knew that he was unlikely to be dissuaded from a course of action he seemed already to have decided on.

“I met Lord Arcturus.” Harry added.

Sirius’ eyes widened. “I take it you visited the study, then. How did your conversation go?” He asked nervously.

“Well, I think we’re pretty much best friends.”

Sirius rolled his eyes, calming down somewhat.

“He terrorised my father.”

“Apparently not sufficiently to prevent his attempts to disinherit you.”

Sirius looked surprised.

“Arcturus tried to persuade him not to.” Harry explained.

“I never knew that,” Sirius mused.

Harry left him with his thoughts as he ate, conversing lightly with Remus.

They were surprised by Kreacher’s proudly presenting them with an enormous Pavlova once they’d finished their first course. They all helped themselves to generous servings, still heaping praises on the elf for the excellent salmon.

Sirius gave them a tour of the house after their meal, showing them the large dining room, the ballroom, and the formal sitting room, library and portrait gallery. The kitchens and storerooms were underground, along with wine cellars, dungeons, and a torture chamber Sirius promised hadn’t been used for at least thirty years.

Afterwards, they retired to the private library on the second floor, a surprisingly cosy room for a family as notoriously formal as the Blacks. The collection seemed to be considerably more questionable in nature than the one on the floor below, but still noticeably tamer than some of the volumes in the master’s study.

Sirius had been informed of the likelihood of Voldemort’s survival, and had, truth be told, been unsurprised; being brought up in the sort of family Sirius had been had inevitably given him knowledge of various dark rituals. The fact that Voldemort’s body had never been found had sustained the hopes of the dark-declared families for more than a decade as they sought someone to counter Dumbledore in vain.

Harry had returned to Britain fully expecting to face Voldemort again, and likely Dumbledore as well at some point. Sirius had agreed with this assessment, and would have stayed in exile with Harry, Remus and Aunt Mim had it not been for Harry’s absolute determination to return. As it was, he’d elected to help Harry in any way he could.

It wasn’t until he’d had a few days’ worth of conversations with Harry that he realised how little there was to teach him. Hopping between continents and specialist tutors had given his godson an incredible breadth of knowledge, aided by the access to rare books almost limitless funds had provided him with.

They sat quietly in the library, reading and conversing quietly in front of the fire Kreacher had lit, quite unnecessary in August, until dinner time.

Kreacher had had more time for this meal, so they were treated to a beautifully rare joint of beef served with a bewildering array of accompaniments. A crème brûlée constituted dessert, again, expertly done.

“Kreacher used to be the head kitchen elf under my parents,” Sirius told them. “In my childhood we had a staff of more than a dozen elves here in London alone.” His brow wrinkled. “Unfortunately they’re nearly all dead by now. You saw my mother’s wall of their heads earlier.”

Harry frowned. “Well, that’s going to have to change. I’ll free Kreacher and employ him properly. Then I’ll make up the staff with either humans or elves, whoever turns out best and is willing to work for me”

Sirius stared at him as though he’d grown a second head, whilst Remus smiled quietly in the background.

“You… you can’t actually mean to free Kreacher?” He asked, horrified. “He’s worked for the family since before Grindelwald’s fall.”

“And may he continue to do so. I just plan to alter the terms of his employment.”

“But… house elves aren’t employed.” Sirius said, confusedly. “They’re bound by their very nature to serve wizards; their health and magic need the bond.”

“Is that what your mother told you?” Harry questioned drily. “There are no sentient creatures that can possibly be bound by their very nature, to wizards or otherwise. It’s a ridiculous charade that British wizards and elves have been acting out for so long they’ve come to believe in it, arrogance and wilful ignorance dismissing scientific papers, and concrete evidence, from overseas. It’s just a way for a lot of families to live an easy life they couldn’t otherwise afford, and salve their consciences of the suggestion of actual slave labour.” Only by maintaining a detached tone was Harry able to prevent himself from sounding like he was ranting.

“Quite apart from anything else, wealthy families, and the nobility, actually lose prestige by their pressing elves into service; three hundred years ago it was a sign that one couldn’t afford to pay servants. Unfortunately, the inevitable attractions of reliable and easily available slave labour ensured its ubiquity.”

“He’s right, you know,” Remus added helpfully. “It’s something I researched during my rage-against-the-Ministry’s-maligning-of-non-human-species years.”

“Snappy.”

Remus rolled his eyes.

Sirius drew himself back together. “You’re determined to change the world?”

Harry shrugged. “Amongst other things.”


	6. Suffert Familia

Harry had an excellent night’s sleep, well, once he’d removed the masses of black drapes from his bed, which were of sufficiently cloying weight to make a vampire happy. Luckily, the sheets themselves were fine silk, although also in black, and with a shine that Harry thought made them look like they came from a brothel.

* * *

“Well, this is a nice surprise.” Aunt Mim exclaimed warmly when Harry stepped out of the car to meet her on the airport tarmac. They stood to one side as the ground crew and driver transferred her belongings from the plane.

Harry shrugged. “I wanted to welcome you back properly. Anyway, I missed you.” He admitted, hugging her.

“I missed you too, Harry.” She said, returning the embrace.

They chatted quietly about the events of their week apart until the car was loaded. Harry had made sure to have a second on hand, knowing how much his aunt moved with, and they got into the first whilst the crew began on the other.

A few minutes into the drive, Harry turned to face his Aunt seriously.

“There was actually another reason I wanted to meet you before we reached Grimmauld Place.” He said.

She eyed him with good-humoured suspicion. “The place isn’t a wreck, is it?”

“Not at all,” Harry assured her, “It will need a bit of remodelling and a few more staff, but it’s perfectly comfortable. Anyway, I know it’s not your birthday, but I wanted to give you this before you start spending a lot of time in the magical world.” He said, drawing out a medium-sized jewellery case.

She took it with a faint frown, which vanished as she opened it and pulled out a bracelet.

“It’s beautiful,” she breathed softly, admiring it, “it must have cost a fortune.”

Harry smiled. “You know the price is largely immaterial, but it did take me a while to find one exactly right. I wanted a plain piece, so you can wear it all the time, and one with a significant weight of flawless diamonds that had been in their setting for a long time. It also had to have been in a magical environment for more than a century, by my calculations.”

His aunt looked faintly puzzled. “But why?”

“Because I’ve spent the last six months enchanting it in anticipation of this. Most of the stronger spells needed the qualities I listed to settle properly, and nearly all of them wouldn’t work if you weren’t a muggle. Another witch or wizard’s magic would not feel comfortable around mine.”

“So what exactly does it do?”

“Well, we’ve told you about Occlumency and Legilimency, and whilst it’s difficult for a Legilimens to focus on a mind that doesn’t hum with magic, the bracelet should actually prevent any attack from succeeding. Some deeply questionable spells I found, which rely on our sharing blood, should also allow you to apparate to me if you hold the bracelet and will it to happen. Well,” he explained more thoroughly, “it technically allows the bracelet to reach out to me through our blood, and for me to then focus on that link and apparate you to me.

It should also warn me if you’re seriously injured, or under magical attack. I’ve managed to tether some defensive charms to the stones as well, and although they won’t be able to block powerful curses, they should provide some form of additional protection. I’m currently trying to work out a way for us to communicate through it, but everything I’ve found or hypothesised so far relies on you having to cast a spell. I should be able to contact you through it, though.”

His Aunt looked impressed. “I don’t need to know a lot about the specifics of the magic to realise that this must have been hugely complicated.” She paused. “It’s also slightly concerning that you deem all of this necessary.” She spoke again hastily when Harry looked ready to interrupt. “No, I’m not worried about my own safety. I’m on the periphery of all this at best, and have lived a dangerous life. I’m concerned for you, as any guardian would be in my position.”

Harry decided to be blunt. “I may well die in all of this, from what I know at the moment, but I make that choice freely.” He shrugged. “A life without risk is no fun. I feel guilty about endangering others, but I’m not going to refuse them if they decide to play the game with me, of their own free will. Objectively, of course, Remus and Sirius have everything to gain and little to lose as things stand. I’m the same, at least with regard to not actually being a part of the wizarding world at the moment.”

Aunt Mim nodded reluctantly, musing distantly that it seemed peculiar for her to meekly be accepting her adopted son’s contemplation of his own death, particularly when he’d just turned fourteen, but then, Harry had never been normal. She could also understand his desire to return to his own world, and at least he was doing so in a controlled manner, and with his eyes wide open. She couldn’t have but faith, and give him what limited support she could.

She put on the bracelet, getting Harry to fasten the delicate clasp. She was surprised to actually feel a prickle of magic against her skin.

“It’s just bonding to you,” Harry reassured her.

She sat back, and they continued to chat inconsequentially as they made their way into the city. They arrived eventually at the muggle townhouse in Belgravia that the Blacks had had linked to Grimmauld Place, and which was accessible now that the wards had accepted Harry. Exactly why the most notoriously muggle-hating of the aristocratic families had decided they wanted a way into muggle London, Harry wasn’t entirely sure, but suspected it was for nothing good.

Harry opened the door, and helped the driver bring the cases up to the entrance hall, whilst his Aunt wandered around the house she would be using for the ‘muggle’ part of her life. She came down the stairs just as they were finishing, and pronounced herself satisfied, though commented that her designers would be in the next day.

Once the driver had left, and the second car been similarly unloaded, Harry levitated the pile of cases in front of him as he guided his aunt through a pair of doors at the rear of the house, which looked like the entrance to Grimmauld Place, but opened out onto the middle of its driveway.

“Very impressive.” Aunt Mim commented, though she looked with disapproval at the overgrown gardens surrounding them.

Harry led her up to the suite of rooms he’d chosen for her, just down the corridor from his own.

“I’ve stripped all of the magical objects from the rooms, as well as any of the room-specific wards. That means you should be able to use your phone and laptop here, although you’ll need to have them in their cases in the rest of the house. The door there,” he said indicating one next to the room’s entry, “should take you straight back through to the house in Belgravia, although when returning you’ll still arrive on the driveway; the wards wouldn’t let me work it any other way.”

She nodded in some semblance of understanding.

“Have you brought in staff yet?”

“Kreacher?” Harry called softly, and the elf popped into existence next to him a moment later.

Aunt Mim’s eyes widened, but she otherwise maintained her facade.

“Aunt Mim, this is Kreacher, Kreacher this is my Aunt Mim.”

Kreacher had been briefed in advance, and didn’t even blink at being introduced to a muggle before bowing.

“You really don’t need to bow, Kreacher.”

Kreacher nodded vigorously, and took Aunt Mim’s hand gingerly as she extended it to shake.

“Pleased to meet you, Kreacher,” she said elegantly, completely poised once more.

“I am honoured, Mistress.”

“Kreacher has taken care of the house entirely on his own whilst Sirius has been incarcerated,” Harry explained. “He and I have renegotiated the terms of his employment and agreed on working hours, conditions, and a stipend.”

“Master is kind,” Kreacher said, visibly restraining himself from bowing.

Aunt Mim looked vaguely confused, but nodded agreeably.

* * *

“I have a strange desire to visit a Potter house.” Harry announced at breakfast the following day.

Sirius looked up.

“Well, that’s only natural.” He said. “I’m happy to go with you.”

Harry frowned.

“No, that’s not what I mean. It’s not my own desire, you see. Or, at least, I don’t think it is.” He paused, thinking for a moment. “It’s like this place wants me to go there? But in a specific sense. All of the other properties feel welcoming when I focus on the wards they have attached to me, but this one keeps thrusting itself towards me. It’s quite distracting.”

Sirius looked at him with confusion.

“That’s strange.” He commented with a frown of his own. “But I suppose we’d better investigate, well, if you can’t persuade the place to stop bothering you.”

Harry nodded.

“Yes. I’ve tried to use Occulmency to block it, but the wards are already in my head, so they can bypass most of my defences and just keep prodding at me.”

“Hmm.” Was Remus’ helpful contribution to the discussion.

‘Where is this house?”

“One the south coast somewhere, I think.” Harry replied. “It’s on Unplottable territory.”

“Probably the castle, then.” Sirius said.

“I own a castle?” Harry asked, deadpan.

“You don’t think your ancestors were welcomed by the locals, do you?” Remus asked wryly.

“As I recall from your history lessons, it was Sirius’ family that tried to get rid of mine.” Harry said.

Sirius grinned easily.

“Well, we didn’t want you weird foreigners getting in the way of our druidic rituals, you see.”

Harry rolled his eyes. The original Potters had been a family of patricians in magical Rome, lured into accompanying Julius Caesar’s muggle invasion of Britain by the prospect of territory of their own on an island famed for the strength of its wild magic. When the muggles had been forced to retreat, the Potters and their vassals had clung on, hemmed into outposts along the coast by pressure from ancient local families like the Blacks and the Yaxleys. It had taken the second muggle invasion a century after the first to turn the tide, and the Potters had been firmly, if not peacefully, ensconced in magical Britain’s power politics ever since.

“So we’re visiting Antheon today?” Sirius asked, interrupting Harry’s thoughts.

Harry nodded as the property in question reached out to him again, confirming its identity.

* * *

Harry, Sirius and Remus appeared with a gentle pop on the beach, their shoes sinking into the pale sand.

“Well, at least you’ve brought us to the right place.” Sirius commented lightly as Harry and Remus stood staring.

“It’s very… big.” Remus said eventually.

“Is that what she said?” Sirius asked, smirking broadly.

Harry rolled his eyes at the pair of them and examined the huge pile of honey-coloured stone perched upon a spit of land extending into the sea. It was, as Sirius had said, a castle. A curtain wall surrounded a tall keep and half a dozen spire-topped towers that jutted up against the sky.

“It can sense me.” Harry said, feeling the wards reach out across the waves towards him. They began to trudge together along the beach and out onto the broad stone walkway that lead to the castle.

“How do we get in?” Remus asked as they stooped in front of a massive, diamond-latticed portcullis.

“I’m not really sure.” Harry asked, eyeing the barrier before looking inquiringly at Sirius, who shrugged.

“I don’t know either.” He said. “I only came here a couple of times when James and I were young; he and his parents lived in London most of the time, and he moved to Godric’s Hollow with Lily as soon as they finished Hogwarts.”

Harry stepped up and ran his hands over the cold steel bars, sensing the magic bound to them during their original forging, trapped and harnessed by thousands of tiny, engraved runes.

“The wards have been locked down.” He murmured. “I don’t think they can be released from the outside.”

“Well I don’t think there's anyone inside to help…” Sirius pointed out, beginning to look slightly impatient.

"No." Harry agreed. “I’ll have to climb it.”

“What?” Remus exclaimed.

“Well… unless you have a broom on you?” Harry asked, not bothering to glance back as he carried on examining the portcullis. “I don’t think the wards would like it if we attempted to levitate over the wall.”

Before either of his companions could object, he willed a protective film of magic over his hands and began pulling himself up the steel bars.

“Harry!” He heard Remus exclaim disapprovingly behind him, though thankfully the man wasn’t stupid enough to attempt to cast a levitation charm on him.

He heard Sirius’ strangled exclamation as he reached the top of the portcullis and leapt outwards grasp the carved stone edge of the framing gatehouse. He saw his godfather drawing a wand from the corner of his eye as he let go of his foothold, using the momentum of his body’s outward swing to pull himself up a few feet further. Another push as one of his feet found purchase, and his right hand was able to reach the parapet.

* * *

“Well, you worked it out then.” Sirius said cheerfully as the great oak gates swung steadily open and the gleaming portcullis began to clank slowly upwards, revealing his smiling godson standing in the sunshine beyond.

“Yup.” Harry confirmed as his two companions walked over to join him, shivering as the curious but largely deactivated wards examined them.

“Well, I suppose we’d better go inside.” Remus said, looking curiously around the neat courtyard they found themselves in. Ancient vines curled up surprisingly fresh-looking stonework, and a great statue of a griffin stood rearing in the middle of a shallow pool.

They set out across the courtyard, Harry still trying to work out what on earth the castle wanted from him.

“Are you doing that?”

He looked up at Sirius’ confused question, and saw the huge doors of the keep grating open slowly a dozen yards in front of them.

“Umm, no.” He replied, confused, before watching with shock as two people stepped out and into the light.

“Good morning, gentlemen.”

The three of them stood and stared at the elderly pair.

The woman who had spoken looked back with a gentle smile, arm resting on the sleeve of her companion. Her hair was grey and streaked with silver, her still fine features gracing a face lined with age. She stood erect, however, and her dark grey eyes were intent. Harry realised he recognised those eyes.

“Auntie?” Sirius asked, incredulously.

“Hello Sirius dear.” Her voice was calm and refined.

“But you’re supposed to be dead!”

“I see your manners haven’t improved.” She noted, smiling faintly.

“And Felix! You should be dead too.” Sirius said, sounding slightly strangled.

The man rolled his pale green eyes good-naturedly at Sirius. He was probably almost as old as his companion, but his strong form, weathered skin and short, bristly white hair disguised his age somewhat.

“I just about made it through.” He replied.

Harry forced a smile onto his face in order to mask his confusion.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, but would somebody mind making introductions?” He asked politely.

Sirius turned to him, eyes still wide.

“Harry. This is your grandmother.”

Harry turned to face her, unable to hide his shock. She, too, looked surprised, before a smile broke upon her face and she stepped forwards to embrace him.

“Harry.” She said. “I haven’t seen you since you were a baby. What a handsome young man you’ve become.”

Harry hugged his grandmother back instinctively, blinking back the tears as he clutched her fragile warmth.

Eventually, they separated, to find the other three looking at them softly.

“And this is Felix, Felix Hawkwood.” Sirius continued, indicating the man. “The Potter family’s seneschal.”

Harry frowned slightly, before shaking the man’s hand, not immediately sure how to deal with a man who’d no doubt served his family for decades.

“An honour to meet you, my lord.” The man said, inclining his head politely.

“But… how?” Sirius asked, standing and looking blank.

Harry’s grandmother glanced at him with amusement.

"Why don’t you gentlemen join us inside?” She asked, before resting her hand on Felix’s arm and leading them into the high-vaulted entrance hall of the castle.

A few minutes later and they were settled on comfortable furniture in a third floor drawing room looking out over the sea, a pair of house elves bustling round with refreshments.

“As you will have no doubt guessed,” Harry’s grandmother began, looking straight at him. “I am the Dowager Lady Potter, Dorea Potter, nèe Black.”

Harry nodded.

“I have been trapped here, with Felix, for the last thirteen years.” She paused and smiled slightly at their appalled expressions. “You needn’t worry; it has proved a comfortable and companionable retirement. It simply happened that when dear Charlus died during the closing weeks of the last war, and the ring passed to James, the wards here became unstable. James had no chance to visit Antheon and settle them properly before he died.” She paused again and swallowed audibly, grief clouding her expression briefly before she continued in an impressively unaffected voice. “It was just Felix and myself living here, along with the elves, and the wards were already on a war footing. When James died they locked down. Without the ring…” her gaze flicked to Harry’s hand and the blood red stone it bore, “there was no way to control them, and so we have been trapped by our own defences.”

Sirius was frowning.

“I did wonder what happened to you…” He said. “But I was imprisoned within forty eight hours of Jame and Lily’s deaths, and after that all knowledge I had of the outside world came from the occasional newspaper I managed to beg.”

“Azkaban?” Dorea Potter asked, looking mildly horrified.

Harry sat patiently while Sirius told his story, before relating his own to a rapt audience.

“Please, join us for lunch.” Dorea said eventually, summoning a couple of house elves and giving them instructions.

The food was excellent, though completely vegetarian seeing as no breeding livestock had been within the castle walls when the wards closed down. They sat and ate on a high terrace in the sun, looking out over the gently lapping water.

“You’ll both come and stay with us in London at Grimmauld Place?” Harry asked eventually.

Felix looked at Dorea, who smiled at her grandson.

“I will. It will do me good to see the city once more, breath the fresh air.”

Harry raised an eyebrow.

“You think the air of magical London is fresher than that of your seaside paradise?” He asked.

She chuckled lightly.

“Perhaps not, but I desire to be back among the bright lights of the capital. The excitement. The movement.”

“If it meets with your approval, my lord,” Felix said politely, interjecting, “then I’d like to split my time between here and London. Someone needs to maintain your household, and it’s a job I’ve done for the Potters for more than eighty years.”

“Of course.” Harry agreed immediately. “You may do as you wish, and I’m honoured that you desire to continue in your role.”

* * *

Harry had managed to brush off all offers of accompaniment to his meeting with Dumbledore, and so it was a solitary flight over. He’d briefly considered travelling commercial, thinking amusedly of finding Hogwarts’ headmaster sitting three rows in front in one of his pointy hats.

He’d chosen a restaurant in Zurich a fair distance from the entrance to the magical city, not really imagining that a few score muggles around them would actually inconvenience Dumbledore, but knowing that it was territory he would still be infinitely more comfortable in. Really, for a muggle-lover, Dumbledore didn’t appear to have much knowledge of, or interest in, them.

He hadn’t booked into a hotel, intending to fly back out straight after the meeting. Dumbledore no doubt had his own ways to use the international floo stations inconspicuously, if his pet phoenix couldn’t quite manage the distance.

Harry took a car from the airport, and, arriving in plenty of time, made the driver hover outside the restaurant. A good fifteen minutes before they were due to meet, Harry saw the man he knew, judging by the beaming, twinkling, completely batty photos the papers were so fond of printing, to be Albus Dumbledore. The man had, at least, made an effort. His suit was well cut to his tall frame, although the tartan was eye-wateringly loud. He was, thankfully, hatless. His hair and beard were long and silvery, neatly combed, and half-moon spectacles perched delicately on the end of his pointy nose as he made his way briskly into the restaurant. His appearance was just sufficiently bizarre for the unfalteringly polite locals to be giving him a second glance when they thought he wasn’t looking.

Harry debated being punctual for a few moments, but decided to let the man sit anxiously for a while. Five minutes after they were supposed to have met, Harry stepped out of the car, doing the top button of his jacket up. He’d put on a charcoal suit, teaming it with a crisp white shirt, collar unbuttoned. Elegant, beautifully tailored, flattering on his lithe frame. Second glances of admiration, rather than bewilderment, from the locals.

The Maître d’ guided him to a table in a secluded corner, where Dumbledore was already sitting calmly, steady tapping of steepled fingers the only indication of anxiety. Well, that, and the way his head snapped around at the sound of Harry’s approach. _Wrong choice of chair, old man,_ Harry thought, _first point to me._

Dumbledore rose as he approached, hand extended and eyes twinkling like a constellation trying to attract a mate.

“Harry!” He exclaimed warmly, clasping his hand eagerly and shaking it as though reluctant to let go.

“An honour to meet you, professor. It must have been quite a task for you to take time out from what must be a hugely onerous schedule to meet with me.”

Dumbledore, releasing his grip at last, used the now free hand to wave airily, deftly casting a silencing charm around the two of them.

“Not at all, my boy, I take a personal interest in the wellbeing of all of my students, current or prospective.”

_Although I suspect it’s never reached quite such stalkerish heights before,_ Harry mused.

“That’s both hugely flattering and reassuring,” Harry said, smiling so charmingly Dumbledore looked taken aback for a moment. “I fear we have much to discuss, shall we sit?”

_Point two to me._ Harry thought, as he stepped around Dumbledore to hold out his own recently vacated chair to him.

The old man frowned slightly, but took it calmly enough. Harry sat opposite, using the better view of the room his own seat gave him to make eye contact with a waiter.

“Have you ordered?” He inquired politely.

Dumbledore looked slightly taken aback at this child more interested in food than the many important things he had to tell him.

“I haven’t, no, I’m quite alright anyway.” He reassured hastily.

“Something to drink then?” Harry asked, picking up the menu as the waiter arrived at their table.

“I’ll have a sparkling water, and the tortellini.”

“And you, sir?” The waiter addressed Dumbledore.

“A cup of Lapsang souchong.” The man said grudgingly.

“Thanks,” Harry said warmly, dismissing the waiter as he returned his attention to Dumbledore.

“Thank you for welcoming me to Hogwarts,” he said earnestly, “I appreciate how unusual it is for a student not to join in the first year, and sometimes regret that I was, at that point, unable to attend.”

Dumbledore’s eyes narrowed.

“Might I ask where you have been living for all of these years?” His tone was delicate, his words blunt.

“Oh, here and there,” Harry responded breezily. “I’ve been brought up with a fair amount of knowledge of the wizarding world, and received some training. I hope your proffered remedial studies should prove unnecessary, although I am grateful for the offer.”

Dumbledore actually frowned at that, but attempted another sally. “And who is your guardian?”

“Oh, I don’t have one,” Harry said brightly.

Dumbledore looked confused.

“I am led to understand that both the muggle and magical worlds require a child to have a guardian?”

“Normally, I think, but I’m now emancipated.”

“By who?”

“Umm, myself really.” Harry said, before explaining helpfully. “Well, as Lord Potter I’m entitled to reach my majority at the age of fourteen, so I haven’t technically required a guardian for the last two weeks.”

Dumbledore frowned deeply.

“I had no idea you knew about your inheritance,” he murmured softly.

“Oh, you needn’t worry about all of that.” Harry said light-heartedly. “Although I thank you for your offer to take me to Gringotts. I’ve been to London and settled all of my business.”

Dumbledore’s astonishment was almost tangible, the more so when Harry showed his hand, Potter ring adorned, with its diamond gleaming like newly welled blood. The Black ring it sat beside had been carefully glamoured into a plain band, and he’d swept its magical signature under the shields that guarded his own.

“All settled?” Dumbledore asked eventually.

“That’s right. I’ve discussed investment strategies with the Gringotts brokers, both here and in London, in order to maximise potential yields and move out of the slow growth areas traditionally relied upon.”

Dumbledore went back to confused, before pulling himself together again.

“Can I ask who your guardian has been for all these years, since your disappearance from the carefully selected home I had arranged for you?” Dumbledore asked, emphasising his final words.

“Of course,” Harry replied pleasantly. “I’ve been under the guardianship of my other aunt, Miriam Evans. It seems that my parents had made certain arrangements for my care in the muggle world, bearing in mind the chronic instability that characterised wizarding Britain at the time of their deaths. She was asked to adopt me should a suitable wizarding alternative not be found.”

Dumbledore looked a little upset, before the emotion fell like water from his face.

Their drinks arrived at this point, and Harry sipped slowly as they waited for the waiter to finish pouring Dumbledore’s tea.

“I assume that being placed in the muggle system meant that when my parents’ solicitors in that world opened the paperwork, they found a child lodged with the wrong people, and had that corrected. I apologise for causing problems with regard to your no doubt excellent arrangements, but I really have been very happy with Aunt Mim.” Harry said cheerfully, projecting obliviousness.

Dumbledore had calmed down somewhat, face relaxing as he became convinced that it was coincidence rather than suspicion or kidnap that had taken Harry away from the custody of the Dursleys.

“Can I ask about your magic?” He probed.

Harry smiled. “Of course. I take it you knew me somewhat as a baby, so realise that I’m not a squib. You may rest assured that I am confident my magic is quite sufficient to keep up at Hogwarts.”

Dumbledore prompted gently. “I have a certain ability to sense people’s ambient magic. You seem to have yours shielded somewhat. Is it possible for you to lower those barriers and allow me to check?”

Harry laughed softly, internally, amusement heightened by how neatly Dumbledore had tucked his own magic away.

“Of course,” he said pleasantly, gently sliding away a corner of his protections.

Dumbledore nodded, a mixture of relieved and disappointed. The boy was strong, very strong. He wasn’t, however, either as weak as he might have hoped, nor sufficiently powerful to be a truly interesting diversion.

“Thank you, you say that you have already received some training, and hope that remedial training will prove unnecessary?” He asked, clearly fishing for more detailed information.

“Yes, my aunt and I managed to find me some tutors a few years ago, so I have a fairly broad basic knowledge.” At this point he drew out and handed over a sealed envelope. “I’ve listed my subject choices.”

Dumbledore nodded, apparently now relaxed.

“If you’re going to be available over the summer then I’ll ask some of the staff at Hogwarts send you assessments to complete, so that they can accurately judge your level?” he inquired, sipping delicately at his cup.

_That was subtler, well, slightly,_ Harry thought.

“Of course, any owls should be able to reach me now, although wards will naturally enough remove all tracking spells, and kill the birds whose spells they can’t strip neatly.”

He almost felt sorry for him as the old man frowned again. This meeting wasn’t going anything like the way he wanted but, although he had information that might help him now, the boy had proved impossible to track before, and he didn’t want to scare him away.

_Time to increase that flight risk,_ Harry thought.

“Madame Maxime has been most helpful as well, so I feel reassured that, should I not demonstrate sufficient aptitude in the tests from Hogwarts, then I still have the option of going to Beauxbatons.”

Dumbledore actually went slightly pale at that, placing his cup to the table with a slight click on the glass surface, missing the saucer by a few inches. He clearly hadn’t come expecting to have to use Occlumency on his emotions.

“I’m sure that won’t be a problem,” he hastened to assure Harry, sounding slightly anxious. “Hogwarts is where your parents went, and even with magic helping you I suspect lessons in French might prove something of an obstacle.” He joked weakly, trying desperately to reignite some twinkle.

“You needn’t worry about that,” Harry said, shrugging nonchalantly. “I’m pretty much fluent in French.”

“I take it you’ve spent some considerable time in France, then?” Dumbledore questioned, voice just on the safe side of sharp.

“Not really. A few months there just after I turned twelve. I loved Paris though, and look forward to the opportunity to visit more regularly in the future.”

“You must have some considerable facility for languages, then, to pick up one so quickly?”

“Thank you,” Harry said modestly. “We have travelled a lot, and I found studying the various languages interesting. I realise that there are devices in the wizarding world that can help with translation, but they all seem to be clumsy and inaccurate and, to be honest, I suspect the mistakes they make often cause embarrassment.”

“Exactly how many languages do you speak?” Dumbledore asked, apparently with genuine curiosity this time.

Harry paused, counting internally, even as his food arrived.

“Ten or so, I think,” he estimated.

“Impressive,” Dumbledore murmured, watching as Harry began eating his pasta.

“Thank you, I’ve heard tell that you yourself are a linguist?” Harry asked after finishing his mouthful.

Dumbledore nodded.

“I can get by in about eighty. I spent a couple of slow decades studying languages, although that must have been half a century ago now, so I have no idea how much of the knowledge I’ve retained.”

Harry nodded, plastering an impressed look on his face as he ate some more food.

“Would you tell me about my parents?” He asked asked, feigning eagerness, and simultaneously giving support to Remus’ plans. “I have very few memories of them, you see.”

Dumbledore smiled gently, apparently glad to have the conversation back on familiar ground.

“They were both brilliant people,” he began. “Not only that, but friendly and popular. Your father in particular was a great one for practical jokes, even if they did, on occasion, get out of hand. I think your mother disapproved, to a certain extent, but those pranks that were most successful always seemed to have her involvement somewhere.”

_Well, that’s all backed up by Remus._

“Did they have subjects they particularly enjoyed, do you remember?”

Dumbledore appeared to think for a moment.

“I believe that your mother was a skilled arithmetician, as well as possessing interests in Potions and Charms. Your father was probably most absorbed by Quidditch, although I was led to understand that he was also an enthusiastic member of the Duelling Club, until he decided that he would never quite be the best.”

“At which point he quit?” Harry asked curiously.

Dumbledore nodded sadly. “I fear that, for anything James was really interested in, he had to be the best, or not do it at all.”

_Like me,_ Harry thought, _just without the interested in requirement, or the not at all option._

“These tortellini really are excellent,” he commented, “would you like one?” He asked, spearing one and leaning across the table to offer it to Dumbledore.

The old man looked taken aback, but leaned forward gingerly to pluck the parcel from Harry’s fork.

“Very good,” he commented after a moment’s chewing.

“Would you like a plate?” Harry offered.

Dumbledore looked tempted, but shook his head.

“I fear I must go in a few minutes.”

Harry nodded equably.

“There was just one last matter I wanted to discuss with you.” He said calmly, setting down his cutlery.

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow.

“The Wizengamot. It’s my understanding that for the Ministry to officially recognise my titles as Lord Potter before I reach the normal age of majority at seventeen, as well as to take up my seats, a vote is required. I was hoping that you, as Chief Warlock, would be able to aid me in the matter.”

Dumbledore frowned at him before nodding slowly. “Yes, I believe that that is true. I must confess myself unsure, however, despite being impressed by you, whether someone of fourteen, who has spent their life outside of wizarding Britain, is quite ready to assume the Wizengamot mantle.”

Harry smiled at him innocently.

“I share your concerns, of course, but I would like to follow in my father’s footsteps as soon as possible, and begin to learn. I would naturally require a mentor, someone to give me advice and help me with my decisions. I would be honoured if you could see yourself in that role.”

_Elegant,_ Harry thought to himself, with only the faintest hint of smugness; _difficult to refuse outright, which means he’ll be looking around for the path of least resistance. He’ll be convinced he can make it work for him, either way._

“I would be honoured to assist in any way I can.” Dumbledore pledged solemnly, apparently coming to the anticipated conclusion.

Harry grinned at him blindingly.

“I’m grateful.”

Dumbledore smiled, before taking a large golden pocket watch from his waistcoat.

“I really must go now, I’m afraid.” He sighed, appearing genuinely regretful.

Harry nodded understandingly.

“Of course,” he agreed, making eye contact with the waiter once again, who quickly brought over the bill.

Dumbledore looked slightly confused, and just watched curiously as Harry paid by card and signed the receipt. They both thanked the waiter politely, Harry tipping him fifty euros, Dumbledore a sherbet lemon.

“Well, I will see you when term starts on the first.”

“Of course.”

Dumbledore nodded gravely. “Goodbye, Harry.”

“Goodbye, professor.”

The driver was holding the car door open for him, but Harry stood beside it for a few moments, watching the tall figure sweep up the pavement towards the magical part of the city, before getting in.

Less than four hours later he was back at Grimmauld Place, with Sirius and Remus bouncing attendance on him. Well, Sirius was bouncing, Remus looking merely curious in an academic sort of way.

“Well?” His godfather pressed eagerly.

Harry rolled his eyes as he grinned, leading the way up the staircase from the entrance hall.

“Exactly as planned, I think. He didn’t even attempt to use Legilimency on me.”

He heard Remus sigh with relief from behind him. He went into the family library on the second floor, sitting comfortably on one of the sofas before summoning a large bowl of beaten silver from one of the fitted cupboards.

Sirius and Remus sat down on two other sofas, so they were all facing the bowl on the coffee table in the centre of the square of furniture. The pensieve was half full of the cloudy liquid that allowed it to project memories.

Sirius and Remus watched eagerly as Harry put a finger to his temple and drew a long silvery strand away from his head, which trailed gently as it was drawn towards the bowl, as if suspended on its own currents of air. As soon as the first part of it touched the surface of the liquid it was drawn down, outlines blurring as it whirled rapidly.

Harry passed a hand over the bowl, concentrating hard. His companions exclaimed softly as the memory expanded upwards out of the bowl, forming up in gauzy three dimensions.

“You did well, Pup,” Sirius congratulated him as soon as the memory had finished playing.

“Cheers.”

Remus was frowning slightly. “You do realise that Dumbledore hasn’t actually got a majority in the Wizengamot?”

“Of course I do, but you needn’t worry; I should have it all under control. Incidentally, I’ll be out tomorrow.”


	7. Meet the Minister

Harry dressed with particular care on the morning of the fourteenth. He wasn’t particularly used to wearing wizarding clothes, and it was necessary that he look the part for this. He chose a beautiful midnight blue outer robe, over a black shirt, trousers, and dragonhide boots.

Sirius whistled when he stepped into the small dining room.

“Definitely my relative.”

“Indeed, I’m probably your cousin in about half a dozen different ways. Anyway, I’m surprised to see you up so early?” Harry asked, seating himself, only to be immediately plied with juice by Kreacher.

Sirius shrugged innocently.

“I guessed you’d be off fairly early, and I don’t think it’s too much to want to see off my godson?”

“You don’t even know where I’m going.”

“How about I collect you later?” Sirius suggested eagerly.

“How about you mind your own business and find something else to do, rather than getting your thrills out of stalking me?”

“But you do interesting stuff...” Sirius whined.

“And now you’ve lumbered me with all of the Black administrative burdens, you surely have plenty of time to find some ‘interesting’ stuff of your own to do.” Harry said lightly.

Sirius pouted, and spent the rest of breakfast trying to figure out what Harry was up to.

“I’ll see you later then,” Harry said as he stood, “why don’t you look through some of the attics if you’re bored?”

Sirius rolled his eyes. “What fun.”

* * *

Harry, having never visited the Ministry of Magic before, was forced to spend fifteen minutes walking the distance from Grimmauld Place to the huge limestone edifice that squatted in the centre of magical London.

The glass doors that lined the entire front stood open, having not yet closed after welcoming the flood of early morning workers. The vast lobby was dotted with a few witches and wizards, chattering in small groups as they drifted past a great golden fountain. Harry followed them to the enormous metal grille that filled the far end of the long space, an ironwork double gate the only entrance.

He stood in line patiently as the others filed through, dutifully presenting their wands to the sole guard now on duty.

The middle-aged woman eyed Harry interestedly as he approached.

“Wand and your identification please,” she said in a friendly voice.

Harry handed over a wand, twelve inches of mahogany and Ukranian Ironbelly heartstring, borrowed from a case in Grimmauld Place.

“I’m afraid I’m not an employee of the Ministry.” He said politely. “I do, however, have important business to attend.”

The witch looked up from examining the wand.

“Your meeting is with?” She inquired mildly.

“The Minister.” Harry said simply, extending his hand to display the Potter ring, Black band still glamoured.

The witch’s eyes widened immediately. A few seconds of processing seemed to follow, before they flashed to his forehead. Harry smiled internally, raising his other hand to draw away that glamour.

_Not often you get to see someone properly speechless._ Harry thought to himself as he waited patiently.

“Lord Potter,” the woman breathed eventually, sounding faintly reverent. “An honour to meet you at last.”

Harry smiled at her blindingly, making her blush furiously.

“I’m flattered that you think so.” He said lowly, flirting gently.

“Might I have my wand back?” He asked eventually, when she had sat frozen for a while.

“Of course, my lord.” She stammered immediately, handing it back to him, gesturing him onwards with a flapping motion that simultaneously cooled her flaming face.

“Thank you.” Harry said, smiling at her, “Fudge’s office this way?” He said, tilting his head.

She nodded. “Straight ahead, first floor,” she parroted, seeming to take comfort in a direction she’d probably given a thousand times before.

“Cheers,” Harry said, striding forward.

* * *

Minister Fudge’s office was, happily, indeed in that direction. It was less happily, however, preceded by Minister Fudge’s waiting room, fully occupied despite the early hour.

Harry stepped up to the secretary, sitting behind his polished desk and beside an equally shiny door. Those waiting eyed him with a mixture of curiosity and appreciation. The secretary was a severe looking man, grey hair neatly combed but a little long as he stared up at Harry from behind silver-framed spectacles.

“I’d like to see the Minister, please.” Harry said coolly, faintly curious about how this request would be greeted.

The man scowled at him, shoving a clipboard at his chest.

“State your name and business,” he said brusquely. “If the Minister wants to see you then we’ll contact you with an appointment.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “A process all of these people have already gone through?” He asked, indicating the score of people lining the walls behind him.

The man behind the desk nodded impatiently.

“Peculiar that so many are here waiting for one man, when they have appointments.” He said mildly.

Before the secretary could reply a woman seated nearby broke in.

“The silly bugger hasn’t even turned up yet.” She snorted.

At that very moment a bustle came through the door at the far end of the room. The bustle, a squat mass of pinstripes and bowler hat, waddled past them rapidly. A brusque “Morning Dawlish,” was heard, followed immediately by the slam of the shiny door.

A man, who presumably had had the first appointment of the day, began to stand. Before he could do anything more, Harry leaned toward Dawlish, staring directly into suspicious grey eyes.

“I’m confident the Minister would be as interested to meet me as I am to see him.” He said softly.

The secretary’s eyes cleared, and he nodded vigorously. “You’re right, of course, go straight through, Mr... ah?”

“Mr is fine.” Harry said airily, stepping forwards even as he despaired of the Ministry’s security precautions.

The office behind the door was surprisingly small, but impressively comfortable. The bustle, now without either movement or bowler hat, became discernible as a little man, recognisably pudgy behind even the expensively tasteless tailoring, gingery hair balding. He was sat behind a big desk, in a heavily stuffed armchair, and reclining easily as he sipped carefully at a cup of tea and eyed the newspaper in front of him.

He didn’t look up as Harry entered.

“Fifteen minutes before I see anyone, Dawlish, you know that,” he said irritably.

“I’m sure he does,” Harry said smoothly, “but he found me sufficiently impressive to bend the rules, just a little, you understand. A pleasure to meet you, Minister Fudge.”

The little man had looked up sharply as Harry began to speak. He was now eyeing him carefully, beady gaze taking in the fine silk robes with their delicate silver embroidery.

“Might I ask who you are?” He said finally.

“Of course. I’m Harry, Lord Potter. The Boy-Who-Lived.”

Fudge’s gaze sharpened considerably. “Dumbledore wasn’t lying then,” he murmured softly. “How do I know you speak the truth?”

Harry wordlessly extended a hand.

After looking carefully, the man’s eyes returned to meet Harry’s. “What can I do for you, Lord Potter?” He asked, at last adopting a politician’s mask.

“Might I have a seat?” Harry inquired politely, maintaining his own poise.

Fudge’s face darkened slightly in embarrassment, and he gestured hastily to one of the chairs in front of his desk.

“Thank you. I thought it appropriate to inform the sitting Minister of my return to Britain as soon as possible,” Harry said. “A courtesy, you understand, believing that they might be interested in such knowledge.”

Fudge nodded slowly. “Indeed I am.”

Harry smiled at him. “Excellent. Well, now that you’ve been apprised of that, perhaps we could move onto the other topic of this discussion?”

Fudge looked curious in spite of himself, and waved a hand to indicate Harry continue.

“I would like you to vote me onto my Wizengamot seats tomorrow, and provide the Ministry’s acknowledgement of my titles.”

Fudge’s eyes narrowed. “You aren’t seventeen. Why on earth would I want to do that?”

Harry gestured dismissively. “To curry favour with someone about to become hugely important.” He said lightly, before adding, “And in exchange for a quarter of a million galleons towards your re-election campaign.”

Fudge’s eyes widened in surprise, before narrowing again. “What exactly are you asking for in exchange? And what makes you think I need more funding with the elections so close?”

Harry shrugged. “Nothing more, nothing less, than you and your supporters voting for the motion I put forward tomorrow, asking for acknowledgement of my inheritance. We’ll swear an oath, my only quid pro quo is that. And I think you need more funding because you’re doing badly in the polls, and I strongly suspect that Lord Malfoy has written you off and withdrawn his own support of you.”

Fudge’s face paled. It shouldn’t have be known that Lucius had been supporting him all these years, let alone that he’d been abandoned by him a fortnight before.

Before he could speak, Harry continued.

“I’ll take his place, for the time being. I’ll support you financially, I’ll bribe, persuade, flatter and coerce. I’ll use my fame, and the influence I will shortly have, to keep you in office.”

“That’s more than funding my re-election campaign.” Fudge said sharply.

“Of course it is, and naturally the vote and the two fifty are just the start of my proposed relationship. Presents exchanged in good faith.” He paused. “The thing is, we both know that you’re struggling. It wasn’t just Lucius’ money you needed; it was him behind the scenes, cajoling and threatening and blackmailing, that kept your supporters voting with you. I give you the money, you win the election. I abandon you after that, and the house of cards will fall down by Yule.”

“You’re a child.” Fudge spluttered, politician’s mask now splitting down the middle.

Harry nodded agreeably. “That’s why I need you to vote me onto my Wizengamot seats. I’m also the child who has offered to save your career. You see, the thing here is that, whilst I have a considerable amount to gain, you have vastly more to lose.”

He pulled a bearer book from inside of his robes, placing it on the table and drawing out a fountain pen to write out a bond for a quarter of a million galleons, addressing it to the holding company Fudge used to clean his campaign donations. He hovered the pen over the space for his signature.

Fudge eyed him, complete bewilderment kept from his eyes only by a faint and overriding sense of hope. He thought for a few long moments.

“I agree.” He said at last. “The money for the votes.”

Harry smiled at him, placing down the fountain pen to clasp the man’s hand.

“I do solemnly swear, upon loss of magic and life, to uphold my part in this proposed bargain.” He said simply, not wanting to reiterate the sordid details, or have to use his full name, trusting his magic to fill in the gaps. It seemed to work, as a tracery of faint white lines spread around his hand.

Fudge looked at him in slight askance, but parroted the words willingly enough, watching as the lines spread out to net his own hand. They drew in close, sinking into skin and taking hold.

Harry maintained his mask as he separated the bond and presented it to Minister Fudge. He felt the magic, which he hadn’t even been aware of tightening, release him as he fulfilled his part of the bargain.

“Thank you, Minister. I’ll be in touch.” He said, inclining his head to the man.

Fudge nodded back, head reaching the same angle before returning to an upright position. “And thank you, my lord.” He said, having recovered his wits sufficiently to remember the title.

Harry stood, smoothing his robes before leaving. He found the waiting room in a state of minor uproar, which quieted slightly as he swept through, before returning once he’d left.

* * *

He returned to Grimmauld Place, to find Remus waiting for Kreacher to bring in lunch and no sign of Sirius.

“Welcome back,” Remus said cheerfully as Harry sat down beside him. “I take it your business took less time than expected?”

Harry shook his head. “No, I hadn’t anticipated it taking more than the morning, but decided that suggesting otherwise to Sirius would help keep him from following me.”

Remus grinned at him. “Well, it seems to have worked; he’s been in the attic for the past few hours, at least according to Kreacher.”

“So we’re not to expect him for lunch?”

“Probably not.”

“Well, at least he’s keeping himself entertained.”

Their conversation broke off for a while as Kreacher served them lunch; a dressed salad with lightly grilled chicken.

“I see Aunt Mim’s been speaking with the staff.” Harry commented to Remus, who groaned faintly.

“You’re going to need to find some chefs who can actually stand up to her.”

“Remus, you can’t stand up to her.”

“Just because you’re the only one who does, doesn’t mean there isn’t someone else out there.”

“It also doesn’t mean I can find them and make them cook for us,” Harry pointed out.

Remus shrugged, picking unenthusiastically at his plate. “This is not werewolf food.”

“For which I’m thankful, bearing in mind what werewolves were designed to eat. Anyway, it is excellent. You know,” Harry said, tilting his head to one side, “it might help you lose some of that weight Catalina helped you gain.”

“My metabolism is nearly forty.” Remus pointed out defensively.

“Muggles manage it... and your wolfiness burns as much fat as the rest of you put together. Anyway, it’s diet, or the gym.”

“We don’t have one here, thank Merlin.”

“You could still come running around the grounds with me. We can do hand-to-hand practise as well, until I find some martial artists in London.” Harry suggested. “Anyway, I’m having the gym from the apartment in Lima flown in. It should be here the day after I make the papers tomorrow.”

Remus looked at him incredulously. “You couldn’t just buy a new one here?”

Harry shrugged. “I liked that one, besides, I bought it in the first place. I’m not going to give the landlord a free set of equipment.”

“You were paying him twenty thousand dollars a month in rent... I don’t think he cares about the gym equipment.”

“And I think the bill for flying it over will be around fifty thousand, but hey, that’s what rich people do. I’m also providing financial support to a fragile industry.” Harry added, attempting sanctimonious, but unable to keep a straight face.

“The private jet charter industry is not fragile.” Remus told him.

“You don’t know that. Anyway, it’s done. I’ve got a couple of people coming over for tea, by the way.” He added casually, changing the subject.

Remus stared at him. “Who? You don’t even know anyone here.”

“A situation I hope tea will help to rectify.”

“You don’t even like tea.”

“I know,” Harry said patiently, “but I have to drink it to reassure my guests that it isn’t poisoned.”

Remus’ eyes widened. “You haven’t?”

“Well, not technically, but close enough, and I decided it’s probably polite to extend them the same courtesies.”

Remus sat thinking for a few moments. “The Longbottoms?” he asked eventually.

“Yup. Neville and Granny.”

Remus got over his surprise fairly quickly.

“You probably shouldn’t call her that.”

“Of course not; we’ll be on first name terms by the end of the afternoon.” Harry predicted cheerfully.

Remus eyed him dubiously.

“Lady Augusta has a reputation.” He warned.

“If you’ve spent more than a century on earth and don’t have one, then you’re probably pretty boring.” Harry replied lightly.

“Am I invited to this tea?” Sirius interjected mildly, coming into the room.

Harry eyed him. “Under normal circumstances, of course, but seeing as this is going to be tricky enough without a supposed murderer sitting in, I’d suggest not. You can be the escaped criminal hiding in the attic. At least that way I don’t have to explain you until you start setting furniture on fire during the night.”

Sirius looked confused.

“Jane Eyre.” Remus interjected, rolling his eyes, “One of our texts in fifth year literature?”

Sirius stared at him blankly. “I didn’t read it.”

“Probably the reason you only just scraped your ‘Acceptable’.” Remus commented.

“How do you even know that? _I_ don’t even remember.”

“I spent most of that year trying to tutor you and James. I considered an ‘Acceptable’ in literature from you an astounding success.”

“Very funny.”

“So, what time are they arriving?” Remus asked mildly, after he and Sirius had spent a few seconds frowning at one another.

“I said half four.” Harry replied, checking his muggle wristwatch to find he still had three hours.

Remus nodded. “They’ll be on time. They’re flooing in?”

“Yes. I’ve opened one of the connections in the entrance hall.”

“Are you sure that’s wise?”

Harry shrugged. “I want to talk to Augusta, and her grandson, and the wards were happy to wrap themselves around the fireplace. I doubt Dumbledore himself could get through if he tried.”

* * *

Harry went to stand welcomingly in front of the fireplace a minute before his guests were due to arrive. He’d donned a blood red robe, richly embroidered in gold, to denote his being Lord Potter. The large fireplace which stood to the right of the front doors, mirrored by its twin on the left, and carefully lit by Kreacher, flamed a brilliant green. Harry noted absently that it was half past to the second as a tall figure stepped neatly out.

Augusta Longbottom managed to wear both her many years and enormous hat with an unbent back and unbowed neck. She was clothed in a long dress of dark yellow, and a large vulture of dark brown perched on her head. Harry was eyed beadily as she approached him.

He inclined his head, according her the gesture of respect as both his elder and the Dowager Lady Longbottom. She took him in a moment longer, face impassive as she noted the Potter ring, before returning his nod.

Once this solemn greeting was over, Harry grinned at the elderly matriarch, the impact apparently sufficient to momentarily startle even this indomitable-seeming woman, as her eyes widened slightly and the corners of her mouth twitched.

“Lady Longbottom. Delighted to meet you.”

“Lord Potter. Interested to meet you.” She said, regaining some composure.

Harry managed to move on to register the presence of the other figure who had come through the floo.

“My grandson, Neville,” Lady Longbottom said graciously, stepping aside to reveal the boy who had apparently decided to hide behind her.

He was a stocky figure in heavy brown robes, face fairly handsome in spite of its pudginess. He was a good six inches shorter than Harry’s 5’9, although he knew they were the same age, almost to the day.

“Neville.” Harry said warmly, smiling again and shaking the boy’s hand. “I know we haven’t met, but I’ve wanted to for years, with us being the same year, and our parents having known each other so well it seems natural that we should be friends.”

The boy steeled himself visibly at the mention of his parents. “Hi, Harry.” He said, apparently surprising himself with the lack of stutter, and blushing.

Harry ushered them smoothly to a small sitting room on the ground floor which gave excellent views of the central court through its French doors. Augusta perched herself stiffly on a settee, pulling Neville down beside her. Harry sat across the coffee table from them in a chair. As soon as they were settled Kreacher came bustling in, filling cups with tea from a silver pot before disappearing, to return a moment later with a selection of scones and petit fours.

Harry concealed his dislike as he raised his own cup to take a sip. The other two drank a second afterwards, in the required display of trust.

“You have impressive control of your magic, Lord Potter,” Augusta noted with some surprise, taking in the saucer steadily suspended an inch above the hand that would otherwise be holding it. She and Neville were both touching theirs, and thereby declaring their own lack of wandless magic.

“Thank you, Lady Longbottom, although you must call me Harry. I can only hope to adhere to the pureblood traditions and dances faithfully, when I have not been fortunate enough to be brought up around them.”

“You may call me Augusta, then,” the lady replied obligingly, nibbling at a scone, “and I must commend you on your performance so far. You say you have been brought up unaware of the steps?”

“I hope not entirely unaware; I have been tutored in and read extensively about the courtesies, but lack the first hand experience I suspect is necessary to truly understand them.” Harry said, trying to choose the conversation that would endear him.

“I’m glad to find a young man of Neville’s generation who seems so sensible and interested.” Augusta said delightedly, before giving in to curiosity.

“Might I inquire as to where you have been for all these years, and why we are meeting in a sanctum of the Black family?” she asked, a faintly sneering inflection apparent in her last words.

“Of course. I’ve been brought up by a muggle aunt of mine, Miriam Evans. She wasn’t involved in any of the family’s wizarding business, and has lived entirely in the muggle world for most of her life.Her job has meant that we’ve travelled to a lot of different countries, and luckily she had sufficient contacts to find a couple of tutors for me. As I said in my invitation, I’m hoping to join Neville at Hogwarts in September, and would be grateful to have a friend before going into a completely new environment.”

Augusta nodded approvingly. “I think that would be a most suitable arrangement.” She coughed delicately. “The house?”

“My apologies. My grandmother was a Black, and it seems that with the absence of Sirius Black, Grimmauld Place, apparently the most independent-minded of the Black properties, has decided to bind itself to me.”

Augusta frowned slightly, but apparently couldn’t come up with a more likely explanation, and deemed further digging beneath her, so nodded.

“Neville is something of a prodigy at Herbology.” She said proudly, politeness guiding her to steer the conversation away from interrogating her host, albeit into a non sequitur.

The subject of her last remark blushed, hastily putting down a chocolate éclair.

“Really?” Harry asked with a mixture of genuine and feigned interest, “I haven’t had much opportunity to study it myself.”

“Neville will have to show you around our own collections.” Augusta said pleasantly. “Are there any subjects at Hogwarts you’re particularly interested in?”

“Well, Transfiguration and Defence Against the Dark Arts, as well as Arithmancy, Ancient Runes and Ancient Studies. I’ve met with Professor Dumbledore already. I think he’ll be surprised when he sees I want to take the examinations in every subject save for Divination.”

Augusta raised an eyebrow, whilst Neville stared open-mouthed.

“I was unaware that it was possible to timetable so many choices?”

“I don’t believe it is, but I’ll do the classes for thirteen, and just take the tests in the additional subjects.” He smiled wryly before pausing, weighing his words. “It’s quite fascinating, you know, where the general breadth of the Hogwarts curriculum falls down.”

“How so?” Augusta asked curiously.

“Well, I find it interesting how focused the different schools of magic can be in some areas. I believe that Durmstrang, for example, teaches some degree of the Dark Arts, as well as limited Blood Magic, but completely ignores the Transfiguration that Hogwarts considers so vital. Beauxbatons appears to place emphasis on Charms, Magical Theory and Warding, two of which Hogwarts is also interested in, although perhaps not as much, but the third of which is non-existent on the curriculum.”

“You seem to have very detailed information?”

“I considered both Beauxbatons and Durmstrang for a while,” he said, “when I turned eleven and it was decided unsafe for me to return to Britain until I could inherit.”

“Surely the future Lord Potter wouldn’t go to a school where they teach the Dark Arts?” Augusta said, shock bleeding towards horror.

Harry decided to placate rather than persuade. “Of course it was never a serious contender,” he lied, “but the institution has an undeniably excellent reputation in certain fields.”

His elderly new friend seemed somewhat mollified by this. “Perhaps,” she conceded, “but Hogwarts can surely be the only option for an heir or lord of the Twenty, particularly one who counts a founder as an ancestor.” She noted reprovingly.

Harry smiled. “Of course, and here I am, ready to take up the mantle of responsibility.”

Augusta nodded approvingly.

“Just as I intend Neville to be when he reaches seventeen.” She said firmly.

Harry wondered whether Neville had been permitted to try and persuade the Longbottom ring to accept him as the lord, what with his father having been in an induced magical coma since the end of the war, but decided that he probably hadn’t. Augusta clearly ruled him with a rod of iron, and no control would be handed over until she deemed him ready.

“I should probably inform you,” began Harry, “that I intend to put a motion before the Wizengamot tomorrow asking for the Ministry’s official acknowledgement of my titles, and permission for me to take up my seats.”

Augusta’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “I think that a little premature, surely.”

“Of course, I wished only to keep you informed of my intentions, you and your allies must all vote as each of you see fit.”

“We will.” Augusta said firmly, “Although I shall be most interested to see your presentation, that is, if you intend to speak yourself?”

“I do. Do you attend Wizengamot meetings, Neville?” Harry asked, trying to bring him back into the conversation.

“Gran takes me sometimes to show me how it works.” Neville said, apparently having gathered some confidence.

“You’ll have to teach me, then.” Harry said, smiling.

“Have you made contact with any others of the Twenty?” Augusta inquired, in what Harry considered a slightly clumsy attempt to determine her own precedence.

“Not as yet. I’m sure I’ll have ample opportunity at the Wizengamot. I know that your son and his wife were particularly close friends of my parents, and that you knew my grandfather well in his youth. I wanted to meet Neville, to try to make a friend in my year before going off to Hogwarts.”

She nodded. “The Shafiq boy, Liram, I think it is, he’s in your and Neville’s year too.”

“I believe so, and their family has been allied to mine for more than eight centuries, even longer than the Longbottoms.” He smiled charmingly. “I fear that they do not, however, number amongst their living ranks a lady half so formidable as yourself.”

He watched as even the indomitable matriarch found herself smiling back at him, her expression little more than half a century away from flirtatious.

“You flatter me, Lord Potter.” She pulled herself together, not quite smoothly enough to conceal the fumbled step. “We must, however, beg your pardon and take our leave of you. It has truly been a pleasure, and my compliments to your elf, for the scones in particular.”

“Kreacher will treasure your praise, I’m sure. I look forward to seeing you tomorrow.”

“I will bring Neville with me.” Augusta stated.

“Then my anticipation is twofold.”

Augusta frowned, as though she thought that slightly generous multiplication. Nevertheless, she rose gracefully to follow Harry as he led them back though to the entrance hall.

He went to find Sirius once his guests had left, stopping only at his rooms to change back into casual clothes.

* * *

The attics seemed to comprise a warren of interconnected rooms, all protected by strong preservation charms and accessed via a narrow staircase. He extended his senses, and managed to find his godfather by virtue of his room being the one where those charms had been temporarily suspended; most of them would not respond well, when active, to someone poking about the objects they were supposed to hold in some semblance of stasis.

Sirius was crouched on the hard wooden floor playing contentedly with a life-size mechanical kneazle. Harry filed the image away to pensieve later, before revealing his presence. His godfather turned around, smiling as he greeted him.

“This is Dorea.” He said proudly, lifting the toy up, which mewed softly and waggled its paws aimlessly as it was raised.

“After granny?” Harry asked amusedly.

Sirius nodded. “Dorea was always my favourite relative from my parents’ generation, so when they commissioned this for my third birthday, having decided that a live kneazle was a touch too common, it seemed only logical to name her after her.”

Harry eyed the glittering creation, silver joints moving fluidly as its amethyst eyes darted round.

“She’s very pretty,” he acknowledged.

Sirius agreed with him, before asking about his meeting.

“I think it went well. Augusta is exactly as you remember her and I think she likes me.”

Sirius raised a curious eyebrow at that. “And Neville? I remember him vaguely as a baby.”

“I suspect that I’ll find a bit more out about Neville when we have a chance to talk without the presence of his grandmother.”

Sirius nodded understandingly. “Is he good-looking?” He asked, smirking slightly.

Harry thought for a moment. “He’s not bad, but could probably do with losing some baby fat.”

“Ouch.”

“You asked, and I suspect you’d have been ruder anyway.”

“Probably.” Sirius admitted, grinning. “I always thought Frank was quite hot.”

“I thought you were straight?” Harry asked suspiciously.

Sirius waggled his fingers mysteriously.

“Maybe I was less insular when I was young than you think.”

“Or maybe you just want me to think that.”


	8. Showtime

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

Harry met his godfather’s eyes in the mirror.

“Absolutely.” He turned to face his Aunt, seated elegantly on one of the settees in his private sitting room. “Am I presentable?” He asked, raising an eyebrow slightly.

She smiled. “Just about,” she bantered back. “You don’t want me to come?”

“You’re welcome to, of course, but I suspect my sudden reappearance will be shocking enough, without arriving at the Wizengamot accompanied by a muggle. No need to actually give the older members a heart attack.”

Sirius laughed. “It might be worth doing, just to see their faces. I wish I could come”

“We want to rock the boat, not capsize it.” Remus interjected severely, although he was smiling too.

* * *

Harry waited patiently in the bathrooms near the debating chamber, watching the seconds slide by on the enchanted clock. The session was due to start at eleven, the earliest it was possible for one to, after the intervention of a few members of the Twenty had ensured they didn’t have to get up before what they considered a ‘civilised’ hour.

He watched amusedly as the clock ticked onto eleven, and the stuffed parrot that surmounted it broke into telling a particularly dirty joke. Harry wondered absently whether the ladies’ had a similar installation, before leaving the room to stride down the wide stone corridor.

He dissipated his glamour, coming to a halt in front of the chamber doors, guarded by a pair of aurors who were failing to regard him with the required degree of impassivity.

“Hi!” He greeted them brightly, smilingly projecting the full measure of his charm.

The two just stared, taking in a set of robes they couldn’t have been more surprised by had they been embroidered with dancing flamingos, which, to be fair, with Dumbledore about, was entirely possible.

“I must apologise for my late arrival.” Harry continued airily, as if completely unaware of their bewilderment. “But then, it does seem faintly ridiculous to have the chamber six floors underground when half of the members are really very old.” He paused and looked at them expectantly for a moment.

“Might I be let in?” He inquired.

One of the aurors, an older woman, snapped herself back together.

“Of course, my lord,” she began respectfully, “although, might I beg a moment to examine your ring?”

Harry wordlessly extended his hand.

The auror leant forwards intently, and Harry wondered playfully whether she was going to kiss the ring as if he were the Pope. Eventually, however, she merely stood back, eyeing him with more than a suggestion of awe in her expression.

“Welcome back, Lord Potter.”

Harry grinned at her, and briefly considered telling her that it was good to be back.

“Might I be permitted to join their eminences now?” He prompted gently instead.

The woman nodded briskly, apparently now back into character. She and her silent colleague took a handle each and pushed the heavy doors open. The chamber beyond was large and circular, the floor open in the centre, ringed by tiers of elevated seating.

It appeared that the meeting had not yet settled down, with the members and their aides chatting away happily to one another. Harry’s arrival served to bring silence considerably more effectively than any attempt the Chief Warlock, standing conversing in the second tier of seating, had made. These people were used to ignoring entrances; paying attention to those they considered unimportant was beneath their dignity. The doors of the chamber opening after the meeting should officially have begun was, however, sufficiently unusual to draw some eyes. It was those eyes being pinned in place by Harry’s entrance that gradually attracted the rest of the crowd’s attention.

Harry came in, a mixture of amusement and excitement getting rid of any nerves he might otherwise have felt. He had to bite back his laughter when he saw Dumbledore, finally extricating himself from the conversation of his entirely oblivious companion, glance round. The old man’s eyes widened before he frowned deeply. Harry breathed an internal sigh of relief that his calculations had indeed been correct, and that the silence that now reigned would prevent Dumbledore hurrying him off to hide in a corner.

Not wanting Dumbledore to seize the initiative, Harry began.

“Morning everyone.” He began, smiling brightly.

“I must apologise for interrupting all of your important conversations.” Harry continued, forcing away any hint of irony. “I just wanted to say hi to you all, and slip in a quick motion before the assembly convenes properly, as long as no one minds. I’m Harry Potter, by the way, and I understand that I’ve been thought missing for some time?”

He saw Fudge standing there, happy to be keeping up for once. Dumbledore actually seemed somewhat lost for words. The assembly gradually began to sit, apparently of its own volition. A few of the sharper reporters in the higher seats began to scribble busily. It was a middle aged man in the front row, the seats reserved for the Twenty, who spoke first.

“You claim to be Lord Potter?” He asked peremptorily, dark eyes assessing.

Harry turned to face him, and inclined his head marginally. “I do, Lord Crouch.” He replied simply, noting the crest on the back of the unoccupied seat next to the man. He took out a wand, this one borrowed from the Potter vaults.

“ _Verum Meanus,”_ he said firmly.He smiled when he saw Crouch’s eyes widen.

“I am Lord Potter, The Boy Who Lived, firstborn and only son of James and Lily Potter.” A second gesture dispelled the magic that would have killed him had it found problem with his words.

A moment later Lord Crouch inclined his own head.

“Welcome to the Wizengamot, Lord Potter.” He said drily.

“Thank you.”

“Harry…” Dumbledore had managed to recover himself sufficiently to interject. Unfortunately for him, Lady Longbottom had also decided it was her turn.

“I take it you would like your Wizengamot seats?” She questioned sharply. Harry turned to face her, acknowledging her with a nod and smiling slightly at a Neville, before responding.

“I’ll take anything your ladyship would like to give me.” He said, barely restraining himself from bursting out laughing at her frozen face and faint blush. A significant portion of the audience was not so reserved. Thankfully, the disapproving looks seemed to be more than equalled by the expressions of mirth.

“I think that a rather inappropriate comment.” She responded tartly, after a few seconds.

“I must apologise. I fear my nerves and lack of knowledge with regard to Wizengamot procedure have made me express myself unfortunately.”

That didn’t seem to mollify her, but it did make her stop speaking.

“Lady Longbottom is, however, correct, in that I would politely request that the Wizengamot see fit to accord me the seats my family has held on this august body for the past three hundred years.”

Minister Fudge, although perhaps not in possession of the most incisive of political minds, knew his script.

“Ahem,” He began, apparently fearing that the first part of his speech would otherwise be unheard because no one was paying attention to him. “I think I speak for the Ministry as a whole when I welcome Lord Potter to Britain’s wizarding community. I am sure that we are all quite curious about where he has been for all of these years, but I think it apparent he is quite well, even after being mislaid by the Chief Warlock.” That provoked some laughter, which made Fudge himself titter slightly and blush. A few of the sharper amongst those assembled were now looking at the Minister curiously; seemingly having come to the realisation that someone like Fudge would not be responding to a situation this smoothly without significant forewarning.

“I must thank you for your kind words, Minister. I fear I must now ask for the guidance of your extensive experience in learning how I might request that the Wizengamot acknowledge the assumption of my seats.”

Part of the Wizengamot was still largely bewildered by proceedings. The other members, just about keeping up, were quickly growing suspicious of this blatantly choreographed exchange. Dumbledore was still frowning, but Harry was carefully prodding Fudge to keep up the necessary momentum.

“I would be honoured, my boy.” Fudge replied cheerfully, apparently delighting in the all-too-rare instance of being more informed than his colleagues. “Although it’s really very simple: a motion is put forward, and, whether following debate or not, the members of the Wizengamot release their voting spheres, which gather in the pool…” he said, gesturing importantly to a circle of inky liquid sitting placidly in the stone floor in front of the assembly. “The members of the Wizengamot then cast a spell to send their decision to their spheres, which will emerge from the pool once every vote present has been cast. Those spheres which remain white oppose the motion, whilst black, symbolic of the ink of words written into law, indicates support.”

“Thank you for explaining it to me, Minister. Would it be possible, and not too presumptuous, to ask for a vote to take place now?”

Fudge smiled indulgently, if a little fixedly.

“Of course, of course. It is, in fact, tradition that matters pertaining to the Twenty are considered first by the Wizengamot. Would you like to phrase the motion you would like to put forward?”

“I would be honoured, Minister Fudge.” Harry paused. “The Wizengamot acknowledges Lord Harry Potter as a full member of the Twenty and of the Wizengamot, according to him all of the rights and privileges due to him by birth, heritage and ancient right, in the eyes of the government of wizarding Britain, accepting him at his present age and state of mental capacity.”

Most of the Wizengamot looked surprised by his confident delivery, though a few were rolling their eyes. An ancient lady seated just behind the Twenty stood slowly, and, introducing herself to Harry as Griselda Marchbanks, longest serving Elder, repeated Harry’s words from a scroll that had obviously automatically recorded them, before moving on.

“I remind the body that the motion, as required by all those pertaining directly a member of the Twenty, requires a two-thirds majority of the votes assembled to pass. A quorum is present.”

Harry restrained himself from grinning as he saw Fudge’s smile become frozen. The Minister recovered gamely enough, however.

“Well, I see no need to debate the motion.” He said quickly. “I myself will be supporting it.”

A faint gasp went around the room, both at this bucking of procedure, and at a show of decisiveness from the Minister. Dumbledore made to stand, still frowning deeply, but Elder Marchbanks had begun to speak once more.

“The Minister has asked the Wizengamot to vote on the proposed motion. I invite the assembly to release their spheres.”

A slow movement engulfed the confused Wizengamot as they gradually reached for clear glass spheres, each about an inch in diameter and filled with white mist, and tossed them toward the centre of the room. The inky pool seemed to shimmer slightly as it drew them all in. The surface of the liquid began to tremble slightly, and the last few voting orbs were drawn forcibly from robe pockets. Dumbledore jumped as his own zoomed beyond his reach.

The pool settled, and a gesture from Elder Marchbanks had people drawing wands, those unable to perform the charm silently murmuring softly.

Every eye in the room became focused intently on the pool, which remained entirely still for more than a minute before disgorging its contents. The spheres rose up in an amorphous mass, before dividing neatly into two groups in mid-air.

The black cloud was vastly larger than the white.

Fudge looked confused, his supporters surprised. Dumbledore looked upset, his supporters nonplussed. Lady Longbottom looked blank, Lord Crouch mildly impressed.

“I make it seventy eight votes in favour, twelve against.” Elder Marchbanks declared, voice as agedly stolid as before. No one disagreed with her.

Harry inclined his head briefly before smiling as he felt voting spheres materialise in the pocket of his own robes.

“I must thank the Wizengamot for such a decisive demonstration of support.” He said, before ascending moving to take one of the burgundy-upholstered seats emblazoned with the Potter family crest. At this point most of the reporters in the upper tiers fled the gallery. Some minutes of confusion followed as everyone began chatting to their neighbour, regularly darting looks at an unconcerned Harry.

“Hi Neville! I hope you don’t mind me sitting next to you.”

Neville seemed to be several minutes behind happenings, but managed to shake his head and stutter a faint “No.”

“That was quite a performance you gave there.” Lady Longbottom told him, from her position on Neville’s other side.

“Thank you, Augusta. I must express a certain amount of disappointment that you felt yourself unable to support me, but I understand your reasons for doing so.”

A faint widening of her eyes confirmed his surmise.

“Do you play Quidditch, Neville?” He asked, changing the subject before Augusta was forced to respond.

“Umm, no.”

“Shame, I thought I’d try to learn to play over the summer. Would you be willing to teach me, Augusta?” He asked flippantly.

She just frowned.

“Harry.”

“Hello, Professor Dumbledore. I must thank you for your support of the motion; my deepest gratitude is yours.”

“Yes, well, it seemed only right. I’m impressed, however, that you managed to get Minister Fudge to back your proposal.”

“Oh, the Minister and I are old friends.” Harry responded brightly. _Let him run around investigating that one,_ he thought amusedly, even as he watched the professor’s expression tighten.

“That’s good to hear.” He said eventually.

“Yes, I thought you might need some help getting the motion the support it needed, so I dropped by and asked the Minister for a hand so as to relieve some of the burden from you.”

“That was… very kind of you Harry. I must say, however, that I am a little surprised that you’ve turned up to the assembly in person.”

Harry shrugged. “Well, why not? I thought it would be fun to make a bit of a splash.”

“You certainly managed that, my boy.” Dumbledore agreed, before going silent to stare at Harry.

“You know…” Harry said, trying not to be too pointed, “I’d have thought that the Wizengamot would have other matters to discuss today.”

“Indeed it does.” Dumbledore said genially, turning after a moment to return to his seat and call the assembly to order. Those present appeared reluctant to tear themselves away from their conversations, but Dumbledore eventually managed to get them focused on the question of intervention in some sort of uprising in Albania.

Harry sat back to watch the dynamics, ignoring the glances still regularly darted his way. The assembly paused for a late lunch eventually, house elves delivering food to most of the members, whilst aides and reporters took out packed lunches. Harry was just finishing his own meal when he was approached by a short man dressed in heavy robes of burnt orange and gold.

“Lord Shafiq.” He greeted the man, standing to receive him.

Dark brown eyes probed, hawk-like, from a Middle Eastern face.

“Lord Potter.” He replied, inclining his head graciously. “I am gratified to bear witness to your return. I had feared that once Dumbledore mislaid you we might never be honoured by you presence again.”

Harry grinned internally, delighted to play with someone clearly more proficient at the game than either Augusta or Fudge.

“And I am equally delighted to be able to assuage your concerns on that score, although I would note that I was never Professor Dumbledore’s to mislay.”

Lord Shafiq didn’t so much as blink. “My apologies. I must introduce you to my son, Liram, although I fear he neglected to join me today.”

Harry smiled. “I’d love to meet him. I’ll be starting at Hogwarts next month, and I believe we’ll be in the same year.”

“Indeed, along with Master Longbottom.” Lord Shafiq actually frowned as he spoke of Neville, apparently unimpressed. Thankfully both he and his grandmother had wandered off to speak to someone on the other side of the stands.

“I’m sure I’ll become good friends with the both of them, although I fear ingratiating myself with Lord Malfoy’s son will prove a marginally more challenging task.”

Lord Shafiq chuckled. “I suspect it might. I wanted to ask whether you would do me the honour of calling on us before term begins?”

“I’d love to. I’ll be accessible by owl, and should be fairly available.”

His companion chuckled again. “I suspect you will find yourself quite popular.”

“You flatter me. I was considering hosting a party so that I would be able to meet everyone.” Well, everyone who mattered.

“An excellent idea, I suspect there are few diaries that wouldn’t clear themselves for you at the moment.”

“Only at the moment?” Harry asked, eyes widened in hurt.

“Perhaps a little longer than that,” Lord Shafiq reassured him lightly, smiling.

“That’s good to hear. I must confess that I’ve found you the most charming company I’ve encountered since returning to Britain.”

“And how much company have you encountered thus far?”

Harry grinned. “I fear telling you that would make my compliment rather less of one.”

“I find myself close to parroting it myself to describe yourself.”

“Have you recently returned from holiday?”

Lord Shafiq grinned. “Not for thirty years.”

“Then the nicest compliment I was ever almost given.”

At this point their mutual self-congratulation was interrupted by the arrival of another member of the Twenty.

“Lord Diggory, Amos.” He said loudly, pushing himself between the pair of them to face Harry and seize his hand. “I must say, most of us thought you were dead.” He proceeded to laugh uproariously.

Harry almost joined him when he saw Lord Shafiq rolling his eyes behind the man, before he winked and stepped away to let Harry make friends.

“I fear rumours of my demise have been greatly exaggerated.” Harry said. “Something I find myself grateful for when it has given me the opportunity to meet yourself, Lord Diggory.”

The man beamed. “Very kind, very kind. I assure you I was one of those who voted you onto your seats. Us chaps must stick together, eh?” He laughed again, with what Harry felt was even less justification than the first time.

“Indeed, and I am grateful for your support.”

“Delighted, my boy. You must meet Cedric.” He hastily clarified when Harry raised an eyebrow. “My son, you know.”

“Of course. Does he attend Hogwarts?” Harry inquired politely.

“He does, he does. Going into year five in next month, you know. His OWL year. Very important.” Lord Diggory finished by nodding solemnly, before starting again. “He’s taking fifteen. That’s more than anyone has done in twenty years.”

“That’s very impressive.”

“Indeed it is, my boy. Maybe he could give you some help in your own subjects. You must have been abroad for all these years, and have missed so much.” He said earnestly. “There’s nothing quite like an English education.”

“And the evidence of that is in front of me.”

Lord Diggory thought for a moment before grinning broadly.

“Thank you, my boy. I think you and Ced would get along well. Do you shoot?”

Harry’s pause was shorter than Lord Diggory’s.

“Only those who bore me.”

His new friend laughed loudly again and slapped him on the back.

“You really must come round for a weekend.” He said, wiping a tear from his eye. “I must remember that one ‘those who bore me’, yes.” He wandered off, still chuckling to himself.

“You appear to have entertained Amos, at least, Lord Potter.” Said a cool voice from behind him.

Harry turned, using his own amusement to plaster a smile of genuine warmth onto his features.

“And I will rest easy tonight in that knowledge, Lord Malfoy. A pleasure to meet you.”

Ice blue eyes failed to thaw.

“Likewise. I see that Dumbledore has managed to return you in one piece.”

“Oh,” Harry replied airily, “I suspect my transit was safer without him being involved in the logistics, although I have no doubt of his willingness.”

The faintest hint of curiosity blossomed behind that frozen mask.

“Indeed. The tale of your childhood must be a fascinating one.”

_Smoother than Augusta,_ Harry mused internally.

“It is.” He agreed. “But I thought I’d save it for a memoir, you know, when I want some more attention.”

Lord Malfoy seemed unsure as to whether he was being ironic.

“A volume I would certainly buy.”

“I’ll make sure you have a space at the front of the queue. I understand your son, Draco, will be in my year at Hogwarts?”Harry asked, pondering how repetitive this topic of conversation was becoming.

“I believe that the two of you are indeed the same age.”

Harry smiled. “Excellent. I look forward to making friends with him.”

The faintest frown was the initial response to that.

“I’m sure the feeling will be mutual.”

“Lucius, what are you doing?” Demanded an imperious voice.

Lord Malfoy turned smoothly to face Augusta, dark robes barely stirring.

“Merely welcoming Lord Potter to the Wizengamot, Lady Longbottom. I believe you found yourself unable to support his appointment. Surely not the spirit members of the Twenty should feel towards one another?”

Augusta frowned darkly, looking suspiciously at Harry for a moment, clearly wondering whether he’d told Malfoy.

“He is still very young.” She said sanctimoniously.

“And no doubt in need of guidance.” Malfoy responded.

“Which you will be providing?” Augusta asked incredulously.

“My door is always open to those who seek my counsel.”

“And locks behind those who come through it.”

“I’m sure Lord Malfoy merely intends to keep out drafts.” Harry interjected lightly, before Augusta got out of hand.

“Of course. One’s health can become terribly fragile as one ages.”

_That wasn’t particularly veiled,_ Harry thought, _she must actually be irritating him._

“Are you threatening me?” Augusta said loudly, outraged.

_Very not-veiled._

“I think that your ladyship has let her temper get the better of her. Perhaps it would be best to retire for a period.” Malfoy suggested innocently.

Neville had looked rather frightened throughout the exchange, but thankfully chose this point to grip his grandmother’s arm and steer her gently away. Harry suspected it was only her surprise that made her so pliable.

“You make interesting friends, Lord Potter.” Malfoy noted, in a tone veering towards sardonic.

“Would you like me to show you how?” Harry asked innocently, deciding that line was softer than any number of the others he was tempted to use.

Lord Malfoy’s mouth twisted slightly in smirking amusement.

“Thank you, that won’t be necessary. If you would excuse me, I must pay my respects to the Minister.”

“Of course,” Harry said agreeably, noting that Lord Malfoy clearly wanted him to note that he himself had been deemed a higher priority to greet than the Minister. Bearing in mind that the Minister had recently been dropped off the cliff of Lord Malfoy’s interests, however, perhaps that wasn’t such a compliment.

The meeting convened for a few further hours after lunch, finishing well before six. The Twenty were apparently as unwilling to sacrifice the latter part of their day as the early. After the session had drawn to its conclusion, Harry wandered over to the Minister.

“Minister Fudge, might we talk for a moment?”

Fudge looked at him with a nervous suspicion for a moment before his face relaxed into its politician’s mask.

“Of course, Lord Potter, and what a pleasure it is to meet you at last.” He replied, gamely trying to keep up the charade.

“Likewise,” Harry responded briefly, not seeing any reason to.

Fudge led him to an antechamber off the corridor that led to the debating hall, leaving his accompanying auror to guard the door.

“You see I have fulfilled my part of our bargain?” He asked, facing Harry.

Harry smiled faintly.

“Indeed. Although I find myself somewhat surprised you found yourself unable to tell me at our previous meeting, or during any of our correspondence, that a motion such as the one I put before the Wizengamot requires the approval of two thirds of the body?”

Fudge spluttered faintly and flushed. “I didn’t see a need to,” he said eventually, “when I knew the motion would pass regardless.”

“Really?” Harry asked “When you don’t control that sort of majority. You see, you decided the easiest way out of our bargain was for you to lend me your votes, see the motion fail, and, having fulfilled the explicit terms of your responsibility, end our relationship.” He shrugged lightly. “You get excellent PR from having to tried to help the Boy-Who-Lived, a couple of headlines lambasting Dumbledore for not doing so, and your campaign funds restocked. An altogether elegant plan, even if you didn’t really have to come up with it.”

Fudge glared at him. “You got what you wanted, didn’t you?”

“Most of it. However, I see now that we could never really have worked together. I merely come to propose another exchange of mutually beneficial favours before we part ways.”

“What?” Fudge asked, face now mixing suspicion with confusion.

“Sirius Black.”

“What?” Fudge repeated, paling and looking even more confused.

“Rescind the kiss-on-sight order.”

“He betrayed your parents.” Fudge said nervously, apparently now convinced that Harry was insane.

“He didn’t, but you don’t really need to know the details of that. What you do need to know is that an innocent man was locked away in Azkaban by Lord Crouch and Albus Dumbledore. The lack of evidence, trial and credible testimony alone provide more than sufficient justification for you to do as I have asked, and you get to drag Crouch and Dumbledore over the coals a bit in return.”

It took Fudge a few moments to catch up.

“How do I know he’s innocent?” He demanded. “The press will have a field day if they find me dropping the search for someone who does, in fact, turn out to be a mass-murderer.”

“I should think my request for clemency in the case of the supposed betrayer of my parents compelling evidence.” Harry said drily. “Anyway, I am currently sheltering him and providing him with full rights of sanctuary. I intend to bring his case before the Twenty at the soonest possible opportunity. If this all blows up, then you can just say you were humouring the Boy-Who-Lived, using him all along to recapture Black, whilst correcting the administrative cock-ups of your predecessors. Ticking the boxes that exemplify the supreme efficiency that characterises a Ministry under your direction.”

* * *

Sirius and Remus stood waiting for him when he stepped into the entrance hall. The house was willing to let him apparate into the grounds, but not yet sufficiently settled to permit him past its walls.

“I see they didn’t lock you up then, Pup?” Sirius asked cheerfully.

“If they had, I suspect it would only have been for them to be able to stare at me more easily.”

“Such an attention-whore.” Sirius said fondly, getting a smack from Remus for the profanity. “Just like his father.”

Harry almost snorted. “Hardly. Anyway, I’m finding it difficult to imagine a more hypocritical statement.”

Sirius nodded. “True enough. Who’d you meet then?”

“Of the Twenty? I actually spoke to Shafiq, Malfoy and Diggory.”

“The good, the bad, and the batshit insane.”

Harry and Remus chuckled. “Apposite.”

“Pensieve?” Remus suggested to Harry.

“Sure. Just as soon as I’ve changed.” Harry said, indicating the stiff brocade robes in crimson and gold he was wearing.

The pair of them nodded.

They reconvened ten minutes later with Harry dressed more casually.

Sirius and Remus spent most of their time viewing the projection laughing. Harry carefully skipped through the lengthy sections of debate, which, whilst surprisingly interesting, were not exactly pertinent.

“I’ve never seen anyone handle Amos so well.” Sirius said admiringly. “I couldn’t stand him as a child; he was a few years above me at Hogwarts and just as pompous then as he seems to be now, but without being nearly so chubby.”

“Lord Shafiq seemed equally impressed.” Remus noted.

“Well, we’re basically best friends now, so it sort of comes with the territory.” Harry replied. “I think Malfoy and I are going to get along well, too.”

“Forgive me for being somewhat sceptical.” Remus said.

“Mutual respect is the foundation of every great rivalry.” Harry said sanctimoniously.

“Well, at least you’re not planning to make friends.” Remus said, nodding approvingly.

“Allies, enemies, transient. Friends, always. For are we not all gentlemen first?”

Remus rolled his eyes, whilst Sirius looked unsure whether follow his friend’s lead or deliver a lecture on the evils of the House of Malfoy.

“I might have to frame a picture of Dumbledore’s expression when he saw you.” He said eventually, grinning mischievously.

“As long as you hang it in your room.”

“I was thinking of swapping it for my mother’s portrait in the entrance hall.”

“I think you’ll see tomorrow that I’ve had a better idea.”


	9. Meet the Public

The next day saw all of them up early. The five of them; even Aunt Mim was available at half six most mornings, sat around the table in the small breakfast room it had been decided was infinitely more suited for so few to eat in.

The much-anticipated pop of a house elf’s arrival had them all turning eagerly.

Kreacher came over to Harry and placed a large stack of papers in front of him. The urgency of his mission had been impressed upon him to such an extent that those he presented were neither carefully ironed, nor on a silver tray.

The Daily Prophet sat on top of the pile.

_‘The BOY-WHO-LIVED RETURNS’_ blared the headline, text dully factual, but font twice the usual size.

“They could have gone with _‘BOY-WHO-LIVED LIVES!’_ ” Sirius suggested disappointedly. “That would at least have had some irony. I like the photo though.”

An enormous photo of Harry was plastered to the front page, waist-up, standing in front of the doors of the Wizengamot chamber and smiling lazily.

“It’s not bad.” Harry admitted, as he turned the paper back round to stare at his own face.

“The article?” Remus asked.

Harry scanned what text they’d managed to fit beneath the attention-grabbing stuff. _‘Thunderstruck Wizengamot… missing saviour arrives to the apparent confoundment of Chief-Warlock… Minister Fudge supports demand that he accede to his seats on the Wizengmot three years earlier than he would ordinarily be allowed to… no clue as to whereabouts, past or present… anticipated to be attending Hogwarts in September._

He read these salient points out to them, before handing the paper over for Remus to look at the following two pages of article.

“They chose a boring feature writer.” Sirius said, pouting slightly.

“I should probably just be thankful they didn’t let that Skeeter woman do it.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Sirius replied lightly, “she’d have liked the opportunity to do another hatchet job on Dumbledore.”

“I think even the people who don’t like him have had enough of those from her. Anyway, how about this?” He suggested, smiling slightly as he held up a copy of The Quibbler.

Sirius grinned back even more broadly as he took in the big photo of the bewildered looking Dumbledore.

_‘Chief-Warlock POSSESSED by Rogue Crumple–Horned Snorkack.’_ Declared the batty headline.

“Xenophilius is my new favourite person.” Sirius declared. “Even if he is still going on about those bloody imaginary Snorkacks of his.”

“Mmm, he’s asking his readers to fund an expedition so that he can go to Sweden and actually find them, presumably to stop them possessing important and much-loved politicians.”

Sirius rolled his eyes. “And the others?” He asked, gesturing at the pile.

“Mostly similar to The Prophet. Oh dear.” He said, both amused and faintly embarrassed as he reached the publication at the bottom of the pile.

Sirius leaned forwards.

“Bahahaha.” He burst out laughing, falling back into his chair. Dorea and Aunt Mim chuckled softly.

_‘HOTTEST BOY-WHO-LIVED?’_ asked Teen Witch Weekly. An enormous close-up of Harry’s face filled the rest of the magazine’s front cover. It showed him wearing the flirtatious grin he’d given Lady Longbottom during their initial exchange.

“I think that should replace my mother’s portrait instead.” Sirius suggested.

Harry growled. “This is definitely sexual harassment of a minor, or something.” He said, looking at his aunt.

She raised her eyebrows innocently, amusement plain. “I fear I know little about that sort of thing in the wizarding world.” She said.

“And, to be fair, you did sort of bring this down on yourself with what you said to Lady Longbottom.” Remus said, faking seriousness.

“I was nervous. It seemed like the easiest way to get her to shut up.”

“Well, it worked.” Sirius said. “It’s probably got you lots of new fans as well.” He noted, before beginning to read the accompanying article, having snatched the magazine.

“Do I want to know?” Harry asked with a pained expression.

“I doubt it.”

“So, plans for the next fortnight?” Remus asked.

“Thanks,” Harry said, grateful for the change of subject. “Well, we’re going to have to hire some staff, and get the decorators in here. I think Lord Shafiq wanted a meeting, but he’ll owl about that.”

Remus nodded.

“I’ll wait a couple of days and then ask Dumbledore about a position. Although,” he said, frowning slightly, “I heard a rumour that he’s lined up Mad-Eye Moody to take the empty DADA slot.”

Sirius snorted. “Mad-Eye, a teacher? Dumbledore wants a generation of students scared shitless of their own shadow?”

“Language, Sirius.” Dorea reprimanded smoothly.

“Sorry,” he apologised, entirely unrepentant, “I wonder how Dumbledore even persuaded him to sign up. I mean, he trained a few batches of aurors, but he really doesn’t have the temperament to coddle eleven year olds.”

“Excitement, I suspect.” Remus suggested. “Retirement must be agonising for someone like him, and Mad-Eye is about the only one who would actually find the supposed curse on the defence positions interesting rather than terrifying. He will probably kill a few students, though.” He admitted.

“Sounds interesting.” Harry said. “I think I’d like to meet him.”

“I suspect not many people have said that about him.” Remus noted

“Particularly not after they actually have met him.”

“I think we’ll be friends.” Harry said cheerfully.

Sirius frowned. “You seem to be saying that a lot.”

“I can’t help it if people like me. It’s the sheer magnetism of my personality.”

“According to this article…” Sirius said, tapping Teen Witch Weekly, “it’s your sex appeal.”

“That too.”

* * *

Aunt Mim, Sirius and Harry went to pick up his school supplies a few days later, Sirius heavily and carefully glamoured, whilst Harry was draped with judiciously applied Notice-me-Not charms.

Astana Tattings, owner of Twilfitt & Tattings, actually dropped her measuring tape when she saw Harry walk into her shop and restore his own appearance.

“Lord Potter.” She fluttered, curtseying deeply, once she’d gathered herself.

“Madame Tattings.” He replied, noting the name embroidered onto her robes. “I’ve been informed that you are the only respectable option for sourcing Hogwarts robes?”

She nodded eagerly. “Indeed. Twilfitt and Tattings has been the purveyor of the finest quality student robes for nearly three centuries. The Potters have been customers for generations.”

Harry smiled. “Then I’m glad to be continuing a tradition. I appreciate it’s terribly impolite to barge in here without an appointment, but would it be possible to arrange a fitting with some degree of expediency?”

She nodded eagerly. “Immediately, my lord. I will fit you myself.”

Half an hour later they walked back out into the sunshine, bearing promises of garments ready within a day.

“Books next?” Aunt Mim asked.

Harry agreed, and they made their way to Caxtwell & Son’s, estd. 1476.

It was probably the most upmarket of the bookshops which still stocked the Hogwarts set texts, and in this case that exclusivity translated into the books for each subject having already been gathered into sets and bagged according to year. Harry listed his electives to a surprised looking assistant who asked, blushing, for his autograph as she added up his purchases.

Trips to an apothecary and a fantastically expensive luggage shop, where Harry bought a set of cases bound in fine Hungarian Horntail hide and chased with silver, followed. They then spent what Aunt Mim considered an inordinately long time in Quality Quidditch Supplies before both Harry and Sirius bought a Firebolt, along with collection of accoutrements.

“Do you want one, Aunt Mim?”

“I’m sorry?”

“A Firebolt. You know, muggles can fly broomsticks too.”

“I’ll stick to my jets. Speaking of which, I must go back now.”

“Of course. We’re honoured to have had the morning in your presence.”

* * *

Ollivander’s was their last stop. Harry had a wand, but it would certainly not adhere to any of the English Ministry’s requirements.

The old man looked up as the entered. His shop was small but well-kept, with a polished counter opposite the entrance, a pair of comfortable chairs and row of glass display cases in the section customers could access.

“Lord Potter.” He greeted Harry querulously. “I have been expecting you.”

“Yes, sorry about that. I appreciate three years is a long wait, but I suppose it just heightens the anticipation?” Harry said hopefully.

The old man chuckled. “Indeed it does, indeed it does.” He surveyed Harry through large moon-like eyes for a while, before turning suddenly and seizing a narrow box, which he placed on the counter.

“Try this.”

Harry raised an eyebrow, but did as he was bidden.

Ollivander watched curiously.

The wand felt dead, even when Harry tried to force some magic through its length.

“I see.” Ollivander murmured softly, before sharpening. “Lord Potter, it is my professional opinion that you are already bound to a wand.”

Sirius snorted with confusion behind him, but Harry looked at Ollivander for a few moments before nodding.

“I am. It was my understanding, however, that that should not be a particular difficulty?” He asked curiously.

Mr Ollivander paused, muttering to himself under his breath, before speaking.

“It shouldn’t. I can only suspect that your wand is particularly well and tightly bound to you.”

Harry frowned. “You see, the wand I have I acquired overseas, and I fear that it does not adhere to the letter of Ministry strictures.”

“I should like to see this wand of yours, Mr Potter.”

Harry paused.

“How far does your customer-client confidentiality extend?”

He was eyed inscrutably.

“It is absolute. My word is my bond, but I am, of course, willing to swear an oath of silence.”

“I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to do that.”

Harry grinned once they were finished, and drew back his sleeve to expose the auror-style wand holster strapped to his right forearm. As soon as he drew the wand itself from its protective sleeve he heard Sirius expel a soft breath and step back. Ollivander froze, gaze locked in.

Harry paused to cast a few detection and security charms to prevent the recording and eavesdropping that wouldn’t be covered by Ollivander’s oath, before placing the wand carefully on one of the velvet pads on the counter.

“I didn’t know you had a wand?” Sirius asked from behind Harry, apparently recovering himself enough to step forwards curiously.

Harry snorted

“I can do most things wandlessly, but it’s still easier with, and much better for fine control. It would have been difficult to find tutors who were comfortable enough to teach wandlessly. I have another, slightly more innocuous wand that I use for most training sessions. But this is _my_ wand.”

They watched Ollivander pore over its length, nose nearly touching it as he drew out a jeweller’s monocle.

“So what is it?” Sirius asked eventually. “I can feel it from here.”

Harry was about to answer when Ollivander stood back up.

“African blackwood and the heartstring of a nundu, thirteen inches.”

“A nundu?” Sirius asked incredulously. “They’re extinct.”

“Most of the time, yes.” Harry replied. “They seem to disappear and reappear from history. I believe it’s currently theorised that they don’t actually procreate, but are created in the desert by some amalgamation of rare natural phenomena. The heartstring in that wand came from the last known nundu, lured out to sea by the Egyptian army in 1798. He drowned, but not before destroying a string of settlements throughout north Africa, and killing an estimated twenty thousand in the Great Massacre of Alexandria.”

“That’s probably why I can feel the power.” Sirius said, the strain in his levity betrayed by his widened eyes.

“I have never seen a wand crafted from either of these materials.” Ollivander noted, actually looking impressed. “I suspect that your own magic must be considerable, Lord Potter, for such a creation to deign to choose you.”

“We can just about handle one another.” Harry said lightly.

“Where exactly did you get a wand like that?” Sirius asked, now sounding slightly suspicious.

“Maybe I’ll tell you one day.” Harry said, shrugging.

“You didn’t steal it, did you?”

“You’d love it if I had.”

Sirius nodded. “Probably.”

Harry refocused his attention on Mr Ollivander.

“Would it be possible to think about solving my problem?”

“Quite, quite.” The old man seemed suddenly excited. “I think that the issue is as much the magic of your existing wand as it is your own. A wand like yours will have a certain degree of independent will, and I believe that it would appreciate a certain amount of say in the selection of its mate.”

Harry raised an amused eyebrow.

“I suspect your assessment is accurate. Are you able to make any suggestions?”

Ollivander paused.

“I have one possibility.” He scurried back between the ceiling-high stacks of wand boxes, disappearing from sight for a few moments, before coming back clutching one.

He placed it in front of Harry reverently.

“This, out of all the many thousands of wands I have produced, is amongst the few dozen I am particularly proud of.”

He opened the box reverently.

“Twelve and three-quarter inches. Basilisk fang. I would like you to tell me about the core, Lord Potter.”

Harry looked at him curiously again, before returning his gaze to the beautifully carved bone-white wand. Like with his other, he could feel the raw hum of magic, a vibration of almost living strength clinging to it. He stretched out a hand and plucked the wand from its cushioning. His own magic purred in instant approval. He picked up his other wand, and was strangely unsurprised when it, also seemed to express a peculiar contentment.

He concentrated on the basilisk wand, turning over the old man’s words, confused.

“It doesn’t have a core.” He said absently, unsure about the source of his sudden certainty.

Ollivander smiled. “Very good. And?”

Harry forced himself to grapple with the problem logically.

“Well, something must be neutralising the venom. Which is interesting, when even phoenix tears are supposedly unable to help a person when more than a few drops of venom are in their blood, and to effectively neuter the fang of a basilisk as large as this one must have been would be a vastly more difficult task.”

Ollivander nodded.

“Nicholas Flamel.” He prompted suddenly.

Harry raised an eyebrow.

“Elixir of Life then, presumably.”

Ollivander smiled.

“An old friend of mine. He was more than willing to give me some elixir to use in my experiments. I am told the potion would have lost its properties had I attempted to use it to prolong my own life, but research, research is the very foundation of alchemy. Steeping basilisk fang in Elixir of Life has made a quite fascinating wand.”

“Indeed. I am curious, however, as to your motivation for offering it to me?” Harry questioned.

Ollivander shrugged, smiling deprecatingly.

“I expect great things of you, Lord Potter. I would like one of my creations to be involved and celebrated. I am also able to charge one such as yourself a price concurrent with the materials and time spent.”

Harry actually laughed. “Of course, and why should a comfortable retirement not be an admirable ambition?”

Ollivander nodded. “You are most understanding, Lord Potter.”

Harry drew out a bearer book.

“Would it be possible to ask you to cease providing information to Albus Dumbledore about all of the wands you sell?” He asked casually.

Ollivander frowned.

“Lord Potter, I have no idea what rumours you have been listening to.” He said sharply.

“Then let us make it more abstract. I would ask you to swear an Unbreakable Vow which prevents you from providing Dumbledore with information, irrespective of whether that is in fact a practice you currently indulge in, and in return I pay you generously for my magnificent new wand.”

He ignored the silent wandmaker for a few moments as he sketched out a bond for ten thousand galleons and laid it on the counter.

Ollivander eventually extended his hand to clasp Harry’s, who gestured Sirius forward. He formulated the oath, and Ollivander repeated it calmly. Harry signed the bond with a flourish and presented it to the man.

“You have my thanks.”

* * *

Sirius followed him from the shop silently, only speaking once they were sat comfortably in the window of an expensive restaurant.

“You bribed Ollivander!” He exclaimed in a fierce whisper which was probably less quiet than he’d hoped.

“I did.” Harry agreed calmly.

They had a relaxed lunch, full of laughter and excellent food. Afterwards, Sirius dragged Harry off to Zonko’s Joke Shop, assuring him that it was necessary for an aspiring Marauder to be properly equipped, although he noted that what they sold wasn’t in the same league of outrageous as some of the things he’d managed.

“It sounds like I’m going to have to blow up the whole damn school to outclass you.” Harry said drily, when Sirius had finished telling a particularly lengthy story involving a Professor Slughorn and half the contents of restricted greenhouse three.

“Probably.” Sirius said, nodding wisely. “Though maybe wait until seventh year for that one. It could be a back-up plan in case you fuck up your exams.”

* * *

“Quidditch?”

“Yes. It’s the wizarding sport, well, the biggest one.”

“You want me to go to a sports match and sleep in a tent?”

“I want you to attend an enormous social event where lots of reporters will be, meeting the best of British wizarding society.”

“And the accommodation?”

“Will be more than up to your exacting standards.”

“Fine, I’ll come.”

“Excellent.”

“Why do we need to leave on Friday when the match isn’t until Saturday?”

“Because the social event thing, the bit you’ll actually enjoy, I’m hosting, is on Friday evening. Everyone stays overnight anyway, and seeing as the match could drag on for days they like to make themselves comfortable.”

“You’re all magical. Why on earth would you camp when you can be back at home?”

“For the excitement and sense of community, of course. You’ll love it; the Ministry, in some random flight of bureaucratic fancy, has decided the whole event is muggle themed.”

His aunt’s lips actually quirked in amusement. “So the idea is that these wizards pretend to be muggles for a couple of days?”

“I think that’s basically it. It sort of smacks of Dumbledore’s involvement to me, what with the muggle-understanding and dressing up.”

“So I’ll get to meet your new headmaster?”

“Probably. He’s bound to wander in at some point; I’ve invited him to the gathering.”

She smirked at him. “Gathering? Are you trying to make it sound grown up?”

“I’m trying to avoid the word party. I suspect a fourteen year old inviting you to a party lacks a certain gravitas in the minds of most people.”

“You mean we’re not all getting drunk and having a disco?”

“Is that really how you meet new people?”

She pouted. “It’s how I want to meet new people; your ‘event’ is sounding remarkably like the cocktail evenings I attend for work.”

“The ones of those I’ve been to haven’t been that bad.”

“You could just stand there and be outrageous and everyone thought it was charming. I have to laugh politely and network and actually listen to people’s anecdotes and remember the names of their children.”

“Poor you. Let’s hope the company at this one makes up for it. You and Granny are the hostesses, after all.”

“That’s probably the shortest notice I’ve ever been given for something like this.”

“I know your social calendar is normally booked up six months in advance, but you can do this for me?”

“I’ve said yes, haven’t I?”


	10. Rewriting History

“Are you sure about this?”

“Define ‘Sure’.”

Sirius frowned slightly in irritation, but his posture lost some of its nervousness.

“As in ‘Confident of obtaining the acquittal of your beloved godfather’.”

Harry tilted his head to one side as if weighing the odds, whilst smirking in faint reassurance.

“Of that? About as certain as I am that Ireland will win the World Cup and the sun will rise in the sky tomorrow.”

Sirius let himself be distracted.

“A thousand Galleons on Bulgaria.”

“Done.”

This arrangement sorted, they let their conversation lapse as Sirius focused on his air of nonchalance and Harry ran over his plan. On the stroke of midday half a dozen fireplaces around the walls of Courtroom One burst into green flame. Harry mentally noted down reactions as the Twenty noticed Sirius, slouched with every appearance of calm in a seat at the front of the room.

Lord Crouch was the first to speak.

“I demand to know the meaning of this outrage.” He spat out, as soon as he had composed himself sufficiently.

“Not even a thank you?” Harry asked him, stalling for a little time as the last few attendees stepped through the fireplaces.

“What?”

“Two weeks in Britain and I’m already apprehending violent criminals and ensuring justice is done. I think that some reasonable grounds for gratitude.” Harry told him.

“Thank you, Lord Potter.” A stern faced middle-aged witch with short grey hair told him, drawing her wand. “I must now request that you step away from Mr. Black.”

Harry smiled at her, disconcerting the milling group somewhat.

“Although I have little specific knowledge, I would think it somewhat unusual for the judge to ask the defendant’s counsel to abandon their client.”

Lord Crouch sputtered.

Lady Bones raised a curious brow. “Might I ask for some clarification?”

Everyone had arrived, so Harry saw no reason not to provide.

“I must thank the Twenty for their attendance at such short notice. I call to order this meeting of the Supreme Court of Wizarding Britain…” that caused some muttering “…for the purpose of conducting the trial and adjudicating in the case of Sirius Orion Black. Might I invite Lady Bones to chair?” He said, inclining his respectfully, and indicating the judge’s stall.

“It would perhaps be more appropriate for the Ministry to organise a trial, Lord Potter.” Lady Bones suggested, frowning as she tried to work out exactly what was going on.

“My apologies for not observing the proper courtesies, but I felt that with a matter of such delicacy and importance, this was the most appropriate course of action.”

“The man is a convicted criminal. He doesn’t need a bloody trial.” Lord Crouch interjected angrily.

Harry raised a brow at the man, gaze suddenly icy.

“And apparently never did, Lord Crouch.”

There was a momentary pause before Crouch’s face paled with realisation.

“I’m sorry?” Lady Bones asked, still apparently somewhat confused.

“Sirius Black, although incarcerated for some considerable period of time in Azkaban, is neither a trialled nor a convicted criminal. I fear that in the midst of the last war it must have been difficult for the Ministry to arrange such matters, particularly when the trial of an heir to a House of the Twenty requires a full session of the Supreme Court, something quite apparently impossible under the circumstances. I propose that the trial, circumstances having changed somewhat, take place now.”

Lady Bones eyed an ashen but furious Lord Crouch before nodding briskly.

“Very well.” She turned to the Twenty, now silent.

“Are there any objections to my chairing of proceedings?”

Harry thought a few looked like they wanted to challenge her, but were struggling for justifications.

“Excellent.” She strode forward to take her seat.

Training and protocol now took over, as those assembled took their seats. Harry remained standing.

“Lord Potter, might I ask you to be seated?” Lady Bones asked icily.

“Is my Defense Counsel not allowed to stand?” Sirius asked her, speaking for the first time.

Lady Bones, apparently not having picked up on that part of Harry’s statement earlier, looked shocked for a moment.

“You’re defending him?” She asked, somewhat incredulously.

“I am. Can I appeal for a prosecution?” Harry asked sardonically.

Lord Crouch instantly leapt to his feet.

“It seems I can.”

“The charges against the accused?”

Lord Crouch cleared his throat, summoning justifications for his own actions thirteen years previously.

“The betrayal of the Fidelius of Lord James Hardwin Potter to the Dark Lord, resulting in the murder of him and his wife by the aforementioned. The murder of the Peter Pettigrew, trusted confidant and close friend of the Lord Potter. The murder of forty two muggles.”

Lady Bones nodded solemnly.

“Sirius Orion Black, you confirm your identity?”

“I do.”

“How do you plead?”

Sirius took a deep breath, hoping his godson knew exactly what he was doing.

“Justified.”

Everyone looked nonplussed.

“I’m sorry?” Asked the judge, for the second time.

“My client claims that the crimes of which he is accused, irrespective of whether he did in fact commit them, would be rendered immaterial by the circumstances.”

“Circumstances?” Crouch burst out explosively.

Lady Bones ignored him. “‘Would be’, Lord Potter? This court does not deal in hypotheticals.”

“I think it would be best for all concerned if it suddenly did.” Harry told her.

“Explain.”

Harry shrugged, gesturing expansively.

“The death of Lily and James Potter and forty two muggles, and the disappearance, presumed death, of Peter Pettigrew, weighed against the apparent destruction of the most dangerous Dark Lord in centuries. In that destruction, justification.”

“Clarify.” Lady Bones instructed, curiosity overcoming irritation.

“If, for some reason, perhaps a prophecy, it was come to be understood that I was fated to kill Voldemort…”, his audience was sufficiently impassive to not react to the name beyond a few frozen expressions, “...then I suspect that my parents might have been selfless enough to sacrifice their own lives to lure the Dark Lord to his destruction. It seems reasonable that the brave Gryffindor of a best friend that Sirius Black was to James Potter would nobly volunteer to be captured and tortured by Voldemort into revealing the Fidelius, risking his own life and accepting the likely death of the man who was a brother to him.

The Fidelius is broken. The Dark Lord arrives. He kills and is killed. Tens, maybe hundreds, of thousands of lives saved.”

Sirius looked as bewildered as anyone else by this tactic.

“If?” Lady Bones questioned eventually.

Harry smiled at her.

“Alternatively, we can have my client not actually being the Secret-Keeper.”

Lord Crouch snorted in derisive amazement.

“Pray continue.” Lady Bones instructed.

“Sirius Black was too obvious a choice. Peter Pettigrew was a much better option to hold the Fidelius. Everyone was under the impression that it was Sirius as additional security. Peter was secretly a Death Eater. Shock-horror. Fidelius betrayed. Potters and Dark Lord dead. Sirius furious. Chases Peter. Fights with Peter and wins. Both kill lots of muggles. Peter, secretly a rat animagus, cuts off his own finger and transforms, fleeing into a drain. Sirius, understandably driven a little insane by all of these happenings, is picked up by Law Enforcement and sent straight to Azkaban. It’s war, after all.”

Lord Crouch had gathered himself.

“And which of these fantasies will you be going for, Lord Potter?” He sneered.

Harry shrugged. “Either.”

“Lord Potter, would you come up with one story before I’m forced to break out the Veritaserum in exasperation?” Lady Bones told him.

“Of course.” Harry replied, giving her a polite nod of acknowledgement. “If we are involving Veritaserum then I think you had better focus your questioning of my client on the corroboration of the second possible explanation.”

He paused, indulging himself a little in the drama of the situation.

“Naturally, should that seemingly unlikely tale all prove to be, in fact, true, then we have to ask ourselves how such a travesty was allowed to happen. The heir to the oldest family in magical Britain imprisoned without trial for thirteen years. The public would be quite likely to start asking, if him, why not them? Extenuating circumstances can explain much, but the outrage of the general populace is, I suspect, considerably more fickle. We would have to find a person to blame for such happenings. Minister Bentwhistle, may his soul rest in peace, has left us. But the then Head of the DMLE, why they would be a logical person to ask, perhaps?”

Harry looked inquiringly at Crouch, whose eyes had widened at the latest of the day’s many realisations.

“Are you asking me to call your bluff, Lord Potter?” Lady Bones asked.

“Yes.”

She paused, looking at Crouch, then the rest of her audience.

“I should personally think the first explanation quite sufficient.” She said primly.

“Sirius Black killed Pettigrew and forty two muggles!” Lord Crouch suddenly accused in a thunderous voice.

“Indeed he did, but again, it was all for the greater good.” Harry told him sanctimoniously. “I think, personally, that we should be lauding the fact that he has such dedication to his duty that he has spent the last thirteen years guarding the most dangerous of the Dark Lord’s followers in Azkaban, allowing himself to be reviled by the wizarding public in order to infiltrate their ranks and find out the darkest details of their most secret plots.”

Harry smiled charmingly.

“I think we should all be grateful for such superhuman dedication to duty, and I know that I am personally delighted that my godfather has chosen to now return to ordinary life so that he might support and care for me. Honourable members of the Supreme Court, let us give not only give an extraordinary retraction of all nonexistent charges, but come together in a vote of thanks for Sirius Orion Black.”

Silence met his speech for a few seconds.

“Hear, hear.” Said Lord Shafiq loudly, standing. “I think that a truly excellent speech, and defense of one’s relative. I can only hope that I would be defended with such facility should any of my own naughtiness come to light.” Here the chubby little man smiled merrily at those assembled. “It is, however, insulting, to even seek to compare myself with such a man. Such bravery and honour seem to me the very stuff of myth. May the bards compose great works in admiring approbation. I would like to propose we award to Sirius Orion Black the Order of Merlin, First Class, in what I think, in this case, is an entirely paltry recognition of such service to one’s country.”

Silence met his words too, before Lord Malfoy spoke up silkily.

“I must agree with Lord Shafiq.”

A consensus was soon reached.

Harry smiled at Lady Bones.

“It seems the Supreme Court need not render a verdict today. Might I help your ladyship down?” He asked, extending a hand to help guide her down the steps of the rostrum.

She accepted gracefully.

“Well played, Lord Potter.” She congratulated him, stern eyes now dancing with amusement.

“I must thank your ladyship for allowing me to be heard.”

She inclined her head once, before stepping away to allow Sirius to come and crush Harry in a hug.

“That was fucking brilliant, Pup.” He told him.

“I did tell you I was. And,” he continued lightheartedly, “you managed to wangle yourself a nice new decoration. I’m told women love men with medals.”

Sirius grinned wolfishly for a moment before frowning.

“I haven’t exactly earned it, though, have I?”

Harry shrugged.

“Nor have a lot of recipients. Consider it some minor form of compensation for thirteen years in Azkaban.”

Sirius didn’t look entirely convinced, Gryffindor honour no doubt causing him prickles of discomfort, but he nodded eventually.

“Congratulations, Mr Black.”

Harry grinned at the still mischievously smiling Lord Shafiq.

“Thanks.”

“I hope to hear about some of this naughtiness of yours when you eventually get around to inviting me to visit.” Harry told him playfully.

Lord Shafiq’s eyes twinkled in an entirely un-Dumbledorish fashion.

“There are so many examples that I must blame the delay in my invitation on my own inability to decide which to relate.”

“I think the admission of your prevarication reveals sufficient weakness to excuse you from any offense.”

Shafiq mock-sighed. “The advantages you charm out of me.”

“Speaking of which, have I been able to charm your presence on Friday?”

“You have indeed managed to persuade me to snub the Minister.”

“A prescient decision; he notified me today of his own intention to attend.”

Lord Shafiq chuckled softly. “His own gathering would, I suspect, have boasted a somewhat unimpressive guestlist.”

“I expressed sympathy in my reply.”

Shafiq struggled into a straight face. “Entirely appropriate.”

“Sirius here is backing Bulgaria to win.” Harry noted, bringing his godfather back into the conversation.

“And you are behind Ireland?”

“After the match against Peru? Krum is going to need to be beyond lucky to save them.”

“Liram agrees with you.”

“And you?”

Shafiq shrugged dismissively. “I care little for Quidditch, but will back Bulgaria if only to irritate my son.”

“I’m sure Sirius doesn’t have similarly ulterior motives.”

“You think I would risk a thousand Galleons for the sake of it?” Sirius asked.

“I know you would.”

Shafiq raised an eyebrow. “I must support my generation, then. I will also bet you a thousand Galleons on a Bulgarian victory, and I’m sure Liram would stand with you, Lord Potter, and extend the same offer to Sirius.”

Harry grinned. “Even it out then: we all put two thousand on the line, each winner collects a thousand from each loser.”

Shafiq nodded briskly. “Agreed, although his mother will tell me off for encouraging him to gamble. You must call me Darius, by the way.”

“Harry.”

Darius checked a large gold pocket watch and sighed.

“And as soon as we reach first name terms I fear I must abandon my new friend.”

“Don’t let me keep you; I’m grateful as it is that you dropped no doubt important business to attend.”

With a short bow their companion left, following the rest of the now departed Twenty through the Floo. As soon as the flames had vanished a young man in the corner of the room appeared from underneath the tell-tale heat haze effect of someone moving underneath disillusionment.

Harry smiled a greeting even as Sirius whipped out a wand.

“Sirius, meet Samuel Ardenny, Sam, meet my newly freed, rebranded and definitely not criminal godfather, Sirius Black.”

“Pleased to meet you, sir” the young man said politely, extending a hand for a still-wary Sirius to shake.

“And you.” Sirius said politely, looking at Harry questioningly.

“Sam here is the man who’s going to make your story official.”

“I’m with the Prophet.” He explained helpfully.

“No offence, Sam, but are you sure you can trust him, Harry?”

“Of course. He’s sworn a binding oath to write what I want and, to the best of his ability, see it printed. In return for his loyalty he gets a powerful patron and a string of big stories.”

The mousey-haired reporter grinned. “See? It’s all worked out.”

Sirius looked largely reassured.

“Well, if Harry trusts you, then I suppose I do too.”

“Excellent. Sam, if you owl over a final draft this evening I’ll check through it and sign off on it to let your editor know it isn’t a junior reporter’s random fantasy. You should have it back in plenty of time to make the morning edition.”

The reporter frowned faintly. “Isn’t going to be a disadvantage, the editor knowing I’m ‘your man’?”

“Possibly, but it’s the easiest way to do things for now, and at the moment I’m popular enough that the Prophet will want to make me look good. No one sufficiently influential is yet prepared to set themself against me.”

A nodded acknowledgement, a deep bow, and the reporter left.

“Well, you’ll be a free and wildly popular man by tomorrow.”

Sirius’ eyes were wet with emotion as he hugged his godson again.

“Thank you, Pup.” He whispered earnestly, allowing his relief to manifest properly now they were alone.

Harry grinned, blinking back his own tears. “I did promise I’d see you free. Now let’s get back home.”

“Home.” Sirius repeated. “Odd that Grimmauld Place has always been that to me, but I haven’t really considered it such until living with you guys.”

Harry frowned.

“I get the impression that your parents were considerably less flexible than their portraits.”

“You have no idea.”


	11. Let's Play

Harry took his aunt’s arm as Sirius checked the apparition coordinates one last time. Standard ‘picture-in-your-head’ apparition had been deemed too risky by the Ministry, with tens of thousands of arrivals in a short space of time. Instead, they’d set up a temporary arrangement of the kind used in the main London permanent apparition zones, where a patch of ground was gradually enchanted and bound to a set of coordinates. As long as the apparator then had a vague idea of what the place looked like and where it actually was, then concentrating on the appropriate coordinates allowed the magic of a ‘live’ apparition hub to draw them in, hopefully almost negating the risk of splinching.

Harry grinned at an excited Sirius. Remus, counting down from three, had managed to secure a DADA position at Hogwarts, and his being seen associating with Harry, particularly with Sirius around, was hoped to no longer be cause for suspicion.

On ‘One’ he poured magic inward, focusing on the image of a stretch of cordoned-off grass with the relevant coordinates burned into it. It was only about fifteen miles they had to travel. Once the apparition took hold he pushed magic into warding off the squeezy rubber tube sensation, not wanting to discomfort his Aunt too much.

They landed neatly and almost silently on the expected stretch of ground, Sirius winking into existence next to them with an attention-seeking pop a few moments later.

The four of them, casually dressed in muggle designer labels, looked with some amusement at the bewilderingly costumed wizards appearing around them. Dressing gowns seemed to be quite popular, with many wizards apparently under the impression that they were the muggle equivalent of casual robes.

They attracted considerable attention, which Harry thought was somewhat ironic when he considered them to be the only people he’d seen who were dressed even remotely sensibly. The excitable wizard who directed them to their campsite almost fell over when he realised who they were, before handing over a map with a large pitch shakily circled.

Most of those travelling via the Ministry-arranged portkeys had arrived hours earlier, so hundreds of tents had already been set up. They showed a staggering variety. Some had gardens, whilst others were covered in multicoloured flags, or festooned with the faces of various Quidditch players.

The Twenty apparently got to pitch their accommodation on a stretch of bluff overlooking the rest of the campsite.They could see house elves bustling around several partially-constructed edifices. The only one that looked completely settled was a large marquee of pale grey bearing the crest of the Malfoys, and surrounded by neat lawns scattered with live white peacocks.

“You did bring a tent, didn’t you?” Sirius asked.

Harry rolled his eyes and walked to the centre of the combined pitch, reaching into a pocket of his jeans and pulling out a pebble. Shaped like a squashed sphere a couple of inches in diameter, the piece of obsidian was deeply inscribed with tiny runes that covered the whole surface. He placed the stone on the grass.

He paced back to join his watching companions.

“What…” Sirius began as Harry drew his basilisk wand.

He stopped speaking as the stone in the centre of the huge rectangle of grass lit up suddenly, a shaft of light rising into the sky. A second later it sank itself into the ground, both pebble and light disappearing as earth drew in to cover them.

Sirius turned to see Harry focused on where it had disappeared, murmuring under his breath as his wand moved in complicated patterns. He stopped eventually, sweating slightly, but looking pleased with himself as he glanced at his companions.

“Done.” Harry declared, sounding entirely too satisfied.

“What…” Sirius began for the second time, before stopping once more as _it_ appeared. He rephrased what he was going to say.

“What the fuck?”

Harry grinned blindingly at his godfather.

“I’ll take that as a compliment. Truth be told, I’m pretty proud of it myself.”

“Harry…how?” Remus this time.

“Why don’t we go inside, and I’ll tell you?” Harry suggested, before leading them past the fountains and gardens, up a flight of shallow steps and along a colonnade. The French doors opened automatically for them and they walked into a large black-and-white tiled entrance hall to find the house elves Harry had already hired for Grimmauld Place rushing around with furniture and enormous vases of flowers.

He began to speak once they were all sat comfortably in the orangery, admiring the expanse of the campsite beneath them through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

“This is effectively a building that exists, and that I’ve temporarily transported here.” He began, holding up a hand to stall further questions.

“If I explain how I think I’ve done it, then you can ask questions afterwards.” He told Remus, whilst wondering whether he had to look forward to accompanying his every feat of magic with an explanatory lecture in the future.

“The building itself I had built on a stretch of Unplottable ground in the muggle world a few months ago as an experiment.The stone I had is tied to the wards on the building. I sank the wardstone here. The difficult bit is actually magically replicating the foundations for the building and wards to sit on, which is what I was doing to start with.

After that I just use the wardstone to summon the building itself. It has enough magic to hold it in place for about a week and return it after that. Personally I think it’s a slightly neater solution than taking a tent and tacking on a load of expansion charms which are liable to fall apart at any time.”

His aunt was the first to respond, smiling brightly at him.

“Well, I’m just glad it’s not a tent.” She said, surveying her elegant surroundings.

“I wouldn’t ask you to host a party in a tent.”

“This is… very impressive, Harry.” A strangled sounding Remus complimented him.

“Thanks.” Harry replied, genuinely flattered; such praise from Remus was reserved for particularly extraordinary accomplishments by now.

“You came up with this alone?” Sirius asked.

“The theory, yes, and most of the enchantments and wards are mine. I didn’t build the actual structure itself, and the wardstone was done by a master carver.”

* * *

Mid-afternoon saw their preparations for the evening finished and Harry stretched out comfortably on one of the expansive and well manicured lawns, basking in the warm sun.

“Hi.”

His doze interrupted, Harry blinked lazily behind his sunglasses to look towards the unknown voice.

_Fuck, he’s hot._

“Hiya.” He responded casually, flashing a grin.

The boy dropped down onto the grass next to him.

“Lord Potter, I presume?”

“So they tell me. Liram Shafiq, I presume?”

“That’s my understanding.” The boy replied in an amused voice.

“Then I’m Harry.”

“Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise.”

“I like your palace.”

“Cheers. I just hope it’s big enough.”

“I’m sure it’s more than adequate.” Liram told him, chuckling. “My father’s terribly jealous, you know.”

“I hope your own accommodations aren’t too uncomfortable.” Harry said with faux-sympathy, even as he tilted his head to look past his companion and eye the enormous pavilion of golden silk under construction.

“I suspect we’ll manage.” Liram replied, playing along.

“Well, if it doesn’t work out then I suppose we can always donate our winnings to help him buy an extension.”

Liram nodded. “That would probably be the charitable thing to do.”

Harry grinned. “We can probably get a complimentary article in the Prophet out of it; young students supporting the elderly in their hour of need.”

Liram laughed delightedly. “An excellent idea.”

A companionable silence stretched between them for a few minutes.

“I hear we’re going to be schoolmates the week after next.”

“If you’ll have me.”

Liram smirked playfully. “I think we might just be able to fit you in.”

“Thank Merlin. If I hadn’t got your approval then I might have had to go to Beauxbatons.”

“Then be grateful I’ve saved you from such a fate.”

“Trust me, I am. I’m also happy your father hasn’t managed to poison you against me.”

Liram snorted. “Please. Poison me against you? He’s more likely to try and adopt you from the way he goes on. Apparently you’ve provided him with more entertainment in the last week than he’s had in years.”

“You flatter me.”

“Sorry, I’ll try not to. Although, I do regret not attending that Wizengamot session. Seeing Dumbledore’s reaction in person must have been hilarious.”

Harry nodded, even as he wondered about Liram’s attitude towards Dumbledore.

“It was. I’ll let you have copy of the memory.”

“I’ll treasure it.”

Their conversation lapsed again, Liram eventually jumping to his feet.

“Well, I should probably go and have some food before your party.”

Harry nodded agreeably, sliding his sunglasses back down over his eyes.

“I’ll look forward to seeing you in an hour or so.”

“Until then, Harry.” Liram was grinning.

He smiled back up.

“Bye, Liram.”

* * *

“How many are you expecting?” Aunt Mim inquired curiously, standing in front of a mirror as she put in her earrings.

“I sent out just over a hundred invitations. If most people bring a partner and a few some family, then at least two hundred.”

She nodded, before turning round to face him in person.

“What do you think?”

“Breathtaking.” He told her, entirely truthfully, taking in the flawless face and figure of his aunt. “Although that dress is definitely a health hazard.”

She raised an amused eyebrow. “I suspect your grandmother’s reappearance is far more likely to give the old men heart attacks than a bit of leg.”

“Have you seen your legs?”

She sighed. “You really should have been born straight.”

He laughed. “Don’t try to tell me compliments from a straight boy are nearly as flattering.”

She smiled indulgently. “I suppose not. Everything is ready?”

“Of course. You’re happy to be escorted by Sirius if I take granny?”

“Less of the granny, thank you very much, young man.” A voice told him as she came in.

“You look stunning, dear.” Harry’s grandmother told Aunt Mim as she admired her daughter-in-law’s sister.

“Thank you, Dorea, as do you.” Aunt Mim said pleasantly before turning back to Harry. “That’s fine. As long as Sirius behaves himself.”

“Don’t worry, I’ve told him to be on his best behaviour.”

“I fear for you, my dear.” Dorea noted ironically.

“At least you can have faith in your own escort, grandmother.” Harry noted cheerfully.

“Indeed.” She noted, eyeing him with some appreciation. “Why are you wearing slippers?”

“They’re evening slippers. They’re perfectly acceptable at muggle black tie events.”

“Without socks?”

“I have good ankles.”

She rolled her eyes good naturedly.

“Do you like my dress?”

“C’est magnifique.” He told her, admiring the elegant midnight blue garment, pleased he’d ended up choosing an evening suit of the same colour. “Although I think both of you have gone slightly over the top on the jewellery.” He suggested, taking in the waterfall of diamonds around Aunt Mim’s neck.

“I haven’t had an excuse to wear this in nearly twenty years, young man.” Dorea told him severely, lightly touching her tiara.

“And I would be honoured to escort your Majesty.” Harry told her, bowing deeply.

She smiled graciously. “Much better.”

“Evening all.” Sirius greeted them cheerfully as he strolled into Aunt Mim’s bedroom before stopping short at the sight of her.

He recovered himself gamely however, and swept forward, bowing floridly and kissing Aunt Mim’s hand.

“My lady.”

Harry grudgingly admitted to himself that his godfather did formalwear well. His dinner jacket flattered a frame that had regained most of its mass. His hair was shiny and neatly combed, jaw clean shaven. He was once more the handsome man pre-war photos of him had shown.

Aunt Mim smiled graciously and eyed her escort with approval before turning to Harry.

“Time for us to make our dramatic entrance now?” She asked.

“I think so. Might I escort your ladyship?” Harry said, offering an arm to his grandmother.

She took the proffered limb gracefully and the four of them processed through to the long gallery at the front of the building.

Harry exchanged a grin with his grandmother as they reached the top of the shallow flight of steps down into the room. Felix was standing at the edge of the milling guests, and Harry caught his eye and gave him a faint nod. His seneschal smiled back and mounted a couple of the steps so he stood above most of the crowd, before clapping his hands loudly to bring silence to the glittering assembly.

“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you all for coming. It now gives me very great pleasure to welcome our host for this evening; His Lordship, Harry James Antares Potter-Black, Lord of the Most Noble House of Potter and of the Ancient and Noble House of Black. Citizen of Rome and Ruler of the Black Cliffs. Member of the Council of Twenty and Noble of the Realm.”

The assembly stared as Harry stepped up, before applauding politely. Harry grinned internally and wondered whether their confusion was due more to his introduction as the Lord Black, or the appearance of the woman at his side.

“Her Ladyship, Dorea Carina Potter, Dowager Lady Potter.”

The pair of them smiled serenely as they stood for a moment, taking in the poorly-concealed looks of amazement, before descending the steps.

Felix continued.

“I would also like to welcome the Honourable Sirius Orion Black, former Lord of the Ancient and Noble House of Black and Order of Merlin, First Class, and Miriam Elizabeth Anastasia Evans.”

Aunt Mim showed no sign of discomfort at her lack of title as she stood next to Sirius, her weight of diamonds flickering in the light of the chandeliers, and white dress leaving an almost indecent amount of tanned skin exposed.

They, too, paused for a moment before moving to join Harry and Dorea.

“Well, that went well.” Sirius said cheerfully.

“Of course it did.” Dorea told him calmly, before turning her head to smile at an approaching Felix as the string quartet in the corner struck up again.

“A magnificent entrance, my lord.” He said warmly before greeting Dorea.

“A surprise for every day of the week, Lord Potter-Black.” A cool voice noted.

Harry turned slightly.

“I aim to give satisfaction, Lord Malfoy.” He replied calmly.

“It is an unexpected delight to see your ladyship alive and in good health.” He told Dorea, smoothly enough that the blunt edge to his words passed almost unnoticed.

“You are also looking well, Lucius.” Dorea replied, tone just on the safe side of frigid.

“He must moisturise.” Sirius interjected cheekily.

“And Black. Already taking advantage of your new honour, I see.” Lucius said, otherwise ignoring the comment.

Harry frowned at the implication.

“Lord Malfoy, how remiss of me, might I introduce my aunt and, until recently, guardian? Aunt Mim, Lord Malfoy. Lord Malfoy, Miriam Evans.”

Lord Malfoy frowned at Aunt Mim preceding him in the order of introduction, but didn’t press the point when he realised he had misjudged the situation and stepped out of line first. Harry thought he was likely the only one to see the irritated glint in his Aunt’s eye as Lord Malfoy raised her hand to his lips as he done with Dorea. They murmured a few pleasantries in an attempt to gloss over the slight situation before parting ways.

“Still a friend?” Sirius commented with an edge of smugness, once he himself had stopped glaring after Lord Malfoy.

“Perhaps marginally less of one, now.” Harry acknowledged before steering Dorea and himself through the throng of attentive onlookers and towards a smiling Lord Shafiq.

Like Malfoy, he was immaculately dressed in a fitted dinner jacket. Truth be told, Harry hadn’t really expected any of the Twenty, apart from perhaps Augusta, to let themselves down on the sartorial front. He imagined them, after getting over their irritation at the Ministry’s ‘muggle’ theme, sending emissaries to Savile Row to ensure they were suitably outfitted.

“Your ladyship,” Darius began, somehow managing to ignore Harry with charm, “how I have pined for your presence all these years.”

“Darius.” She replied, giving in to a small smile. “Is it the tailoring or have you put on weight?”

He raised his hands in mock horror.

“I fear you have caught me, as ever. I cannot even blame my figure on the vagaries of age as I admire yours.” He sallied.

Harry and Dorea both chuckled.

“Monopolising the host, dad?”

“Ah, Liram. Come to see your new friend?” Darius said cheekily.

Liram grinned at Harry.

“I was actually going to help him escape from you. If her ladyship doesn’t mind me borrowing her escort, of course?” He asked, dipping short bow to Dorea.

“Not at all. It’s good to see you again Liram, I remember you as a baby. We saw you almost as often as we did dear Neville.” She said fondly.

He smiled charmingly at her.

“And I can only regret that I do not remember those occasions. It is, however, good to have you back.”

With that Harry and his new friend took their leave and began circulating, Harry introducing himself to the great and the good, mentally ticking off each invitee to make sure they’d all been greeted. The trays of champagne that had been going round on heads of house elves since the arrival of the first guests were soon joined by ones filled with the canapés Kreacher and his new team had spent days preparing.

Harry finally got to speak to almost every member of the Twenty, well, those from houses who still had living members, or those not incarcerated in Azkaban. He and Liram were getting along brilliantly, even if Harry couldn’t quite get over his new friend’s deep, dark blue eyes, fine features and leanly muscled form, showed off to advantage by bespoke evening wear. The assembly paused once more to stare at the arrival of the following day’s Quidditch teams, introduced one by one by Felix.

Minister Fudge, no doubt wanting to turn up fashionably late and make an entrance in solitary splendour, was unfortunate enough to arrive just as the audience was in the midst of politely applauding the teams. His introduction was somewhat lost amongst the noise, and he was forced to stand and wait, fuming quietly, as Harry personally welcomed each member of both nations’ teams.

“Viktor, it’s good to see you again.” He said eventually, not needing to feign delight as he embraced the duck-footed seeker.

The surly face broke into a broad grin as the surrounding people watched the enthusiastic greeting with confusion.

“Liram, meet Viktor, Viktor, Liram Shafiq, son and heir of Lord Shafiq.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Viktor said warmly, extending a hand to shake.

“Likewise.” Liram replied, smiling as he raised a curious eyebrow at Harry.

“Viktor and I met in Bulgaria last summer.” Harry explained. “I was tutored by his father for a while, and we went flying together.”

“Harry is vary good flyer.”

Liram raised an eyebrow at that.

“Viktor introduced me to flying.” Harry said. “I wonder if I’ll be able to join a Quidditch team at Hogwarts.”

Liram smiled. “Well, I was made Ravenclaw seeker last year. If I can do it then I’m pretty sure almost anyone can.”

Harry grinned at him. “I’m not sure whether to be insulted by that, or call you on your false modesty.”

“I’m not bad.” Liram said, shrugging self-deprecatingly before changing the subject. “I don’t know what positions are likely to be available on the Gryffindor team this year, although Oliver Wood, the Captain and Keeper, just left Hogwarts.”

Harry quirked an amused eyebrow.

“Who says I’ll be in Gryffindor?”

Viktor looked confused by Liram’s frown.

“You can’t not be in Gryffindor.” Liram stated, though with more than a faint note of question.

Harry shrugged. “Sirius was a Gryffindor, in spite of every Black since the founding of Hogwarts being a Slytherin.”

“But he must be the only example of an heir to the Twenty being sorted outside of their family’s house in centuries.”

“Probably, but do you not think me sufficiently extraordinary to follow suit?”

Liram eyed him appraisingly. “From what I’ve been told or seen you could probably fit into any house. So unless you’re secretly a massive coward then the hat is likely to put you in Gryffindor.”

“Ve do not have zese houses at Durmstrang.” Viktor told them. “Instead ve are divided by age and power.”

“An excellent model for Karkaroff’s little army.” Harry said lightly to a once more frowning Viktor.

“I zink it is an vary good zystem personally.” He said defensively.

“I’m sure it works well.” Harry reassured him.

At this point their conversation was interrupted.

“Harry, my boy.” Said a genial voice

Harry decided it probably wasn’t worth the effort of asking Dumbledore to address him by his proper title, even as he forced back any visible signs of his amusement at the old man’s costume.

Dumbledore’s dinner jacket was shiny, pink, and sequined along the seams.

“Professor.” Harry greeted warmly, even as his mask became more difficult to maintain as Liram snorted with laughter and Viktor eyed Dumbledore’s clothing with something approaching concern.

“I must say this is an impressive little get-together you’ve managed to arrange.”

“Thank you.” Harry replied. “And has become even more so, thanks to your presence.” He paused. “And that of Minister Fudge.”

The little man had finally reached them.

“Lord Potter, Dumbledore.” He acknowledged the two most important members of the party with an irritated nod.

“Potter-Black, Minister.” Harry corrected him, shaking the man’s hand and ignoring his start of surprise. “You’ll have met Liram Shafiq, of course, but might I introduce you to Viktor Krum? Bulgaria’s seeker tomorrow.” He clarified when Fudge looked blank.

“A pleasure.” Fudge muttered absentmindedly, before focusing for a moment. “Do you happen to speak English?”

“I do.”

“Excellent. You can interpret for your Minister.”

Krum was dragged off before he could protest.

“I hadn’t known you were Lord Black, Harry?” Dumbledore asked with faint curiosity.

“My godfather appears to have considered the title something of a poisoned chalice.” Harry said drily. “On the upside, the combined Houses do gain some considerable financial economies of scale.” He noted, justifying it as some sort of business decision.

“You have an interest in enterprise?”

Harry shrugged. “A few vague plans. Nothing more than fantasy at the moment, I’m afraid.”

“You could probably interest my father in some joint projects.” Liram suggested.

“I’ll make time to speak to him, then.”

“Was there something you wanted to discuss, Professor?” Harry asked mildly.

“No, no, not at all, my boy. I must inform you, however, that the teachers at Hogwarts were extremely impressed by your answers in the assessments they sent you. I know that a number of them actually desire to speak to you with regard to some of your work.”

“I’m flattered, and I’m sure there’ll be plenty of time for that when school begins.”

Dumbledore nodded agreeably before moving off.

“He seemed as jolly as usual.” Liram commented.

Harry smirked faintly.

“He’s probably just happy to see Lord Malfoy and the Yaxleys dressed as muggles.”

Liram returned his expression.

“To be fair, that makes me happy too.”

Harry sighed. “You’re easy to please. The problem for me is that, having been brought up largely in the muggle world, to me they look entirely sensible.”

“And Dumbledore?”

Harry grinned.

“Utterly ridiculous.”

“At least some things don’t change.”

* * *

The evening had gone off without a hitch. The French doors had been opened along the length of the room and people were still socialising on the terrace in the early hours of the morning. Aunt Mim had, for a muggle who would seem to have little save social class in common with the majority of the guests, been a remarkable success. She privately admitted to Harry that Sirius, although not himself overtly diplomatic, had been invaluable in smoothing over any awkwardness.

Harry finally made his way to bed just after four, having bid farewell to Liram and the last of the departing guests, and escorted Dorea to her own chambers.

* * *

Match day morning dawned bright and cool. Enjoying breakfast in the orangery, Harry and his family looked out over the vast fields of tents and campfires.

“Did you ever play Quidditch, grandmother?”

“It wasn’t considered ladylike in my day.” She smiled. “So naturally. Voted Hogwarts’ most terrifying Beater four years running.”

“That’s why she was always my favourite Aunt.” A grinning Sirius explained. “You know, she once broke three of Abraxas Malfoy’s ribs and then told him to stop being such a girl when he refused to carry on playing.”

“You did that to a teammate?” Harry asked with a sort of morbid amusement.

She shrugged delicately. “He wasn’t trying hard enough. Anyway, we won the cup that year, and that’s what matters. The nurse had him fixed up in less than an hour after the match.” She paused. “And that included sorting out the punctured lung.”

“You see now why no one objected when she decided to marry a Potter?”

Dorea sniffed. “Charlus was Witch Weekly’s most eligible bachelor every year of the 1920s until I snapped him up.”

Sirius grinned. “As the old dog never tired of reminding every woman he came across for the rest of his life.”

Dorea smiled. “I found it amusing to dangle him in front of women who knew they could never have him.”

“You’re a very frightening woman, Dorea,” Aunt Mim noted.

“As are you, my dear.” She paused. “I’ve been told you’re a lawyer?”

Aunt Mim raised an eyebrow. “I am.”

Dorea frowned slightly. “Well, one does what one must to get by, I suppose.”

Harry and Sirius burst out laughing.

Aunt Mim remained impassive. “Indeed, it has proved an amusing hobby.”

Dorea nodded agreeably. “I quite understand the attraction, my dear. After all, I once considered a contract the Montrose Magpies offered me.”

“But that seemed too much like gainful employment, auntie?” A smirking Sirius asked.

“Not at all. They just refused to redesign their uniforms for me.” She sniffed.

Harry raised an eyebrow. “I’d laugh if I didn’t have a sneaking suspicion you were serious.”

* * *

The stadium was vast.

“Space for a quarter of a million wizards, Pup.” Sirius told Harry. “The entire population of magical London.”

Harry nodded as they approached the entrance their tickets named.

The man who checked them gave the group an awestruck look and a deep bow.

“Straight to the top, my lord.” He stammered out, handing the tickets back to Sirius.

“No concession to the elderly.” Dorea noted sardonically as they began to climb the flights of thickly carpeted steps.

The Top Box formed a large bubble of glass, set about halfway up the stands and at the midpoint between the two sets of goalposts. Each member of the Twenty was entitled to a box of their own, but Harry and Sirius had decided they’d rather be at the centre of things. Minister Fudge, in spite of the deterioration of his nonexistent relationship with Harry, had been only too happy to procure The Boy Who Lived seats.

Four rows of a dozen or so comfortable looking chairs filled the box. Harry’s party, being the first to arrive, save for a half a dozen Bulgarians standing muttering in the central aisle, filed into the right hand seats of the front row.

“Impressive,” Harry murmured, surveying the oval of green far below. The Top Box itself was on a level with the goalposts, allowing its occupants and the commentator the best possible view.

“I haven’t been to a Quidditch match in decades.” Dorea said thoughtfully.

“Then you’re lucky we rescued you in time for this one.” Harry told her cheerfully.

“Indeed.”

“Ah, Lord Potter-Black. What a pleasure to see you here.”

“Harry, please,” Harry said, flashing the man a charming grin. It was, perhaps not an entirely appropriate offer, but he found himself unable to resist seeing how Lord Malfoy responded.

A momentary pause.

“Lucius.”

Dorea was looking slightly disapproving, Harry noted out of the corner of his eye.

“A pleasure to meet you again, Lady Malfoy.” He continued, stepping forwards to brush his lips softly against pale knuckles, eye contact just on the safe side of appropriate.

“And you, Lord Potter-Black. Might I introduce my son, Draco? I don’t believe you’ve met yet.”

Harry smiled charmingly. “Hi Draco, call me Harry.”

The pale faced, haired and eyed boy frowned slightly, as though uncomfortable with someone needing to give him permission and being unable to reciprocate. He was well trained, however.

“A pleasure to meet you, Harry.”

The Malfoys seated themselves just as the two Ministers and their entourages came in.

After the round of greetings, Harry settled back into his seat, absentmindedly taking in the enormous blackboard directly opposite them, with its invisible chalk currently scrawling an advertisement for Gladrag’s Wizardwear.

He was somewhat nonplussed, then, when the Top Box was invaded by a veritable army of redheads. Unlike the Malfoys, however, he didn’t let it show. The family, for they could be nothing if not related, had won some kind of Ministry competition, he gathered. He frowned slightly as they settled themselves noisily in the seats behind them, unsure as to whether the irritation they were causing Fudge and the Malfoys was worth his own.

With five minutes to go until the six thirty start, a mass of stripes bounded into the box. The man, six foot three of wasp-pattern spandex stretched over a muscular frame middle age had softened into lumpiness, seized Minister Fudge’s hand with what Harry felt was entirely unwarranted enthusiasm.

“Minister, Minister!” He practically sang. “All ready to go?”

Fudge, finally disengaging from the grip, smiled comfortably.

“Just waiting on you, Ludo.”

“No words for the crowd?” Ludo asked,

“I think I’ll leave all of that in your capable care.”

Ludo nodded happily before stepping up to the podium in the furthest forward point of the bubble.

“ _Sonorus.”_

As he cast the spell, the blackboard was wiped clean of its every flavoured beans and a score tally drawn on.

“Ladies and Gentlemen!” Ludo roared in greeting, beaming as the audience returned it a thousandfold.

“Welcome to Britain, and the four hundred and twenty second Quidditch World Cup!”

More cheering.

“Is everyone ready?”

Cheering.

“Can I have a cheer from the Bulgaria supporters?”

He got one.

“And now Ireland!”

Slightly louder.

“Ludo, do you think we could get on?” Fudge asked with a little irritation.

The man turned towards him with an earnest-puppy look that would have been adorable had it not been entirely serious.

“But Minister, there’s this thing muggles do called a Mexican wave…”

Lord Malfoy’s glare at this had somewhat more of an effect than Fudge’s.

“So, without further ado, let us welcome the teams!”

Fudge let out an audible sigh of relief.

“Playing for Bulgaria, please welcomeeee… Ivanova…” A scarlet blur swept up from the Bulgarian end. “Dimitrov… Levski… Volkov… Vulchanov… Zograf… aaaand… Krum!”

The applause got noticeably louder as Krum flew out to join his teammates. The Bulgarians hovered in a dead straight line at about the level of the top box as Ludo went on to introduce the Irish team.

“Troy… Mullet… Moran… Connolly… Quigley… Ryan… and Lynch!”

Even Bagman seemed unable to muster as much enthusiasm for the Irish seeker as he had for Krum. The crowd appeared to agree, as the level of cheering had conversely gone down in volume after the introduction of the Irish team’s star chasers. After their introduction, and the singing of the teams’ respective national anthems, the players dropped down to land on the pitch, lining up on either side of an Egyptian man dressed like a pharaoh.

Several members of the audience fell from the stands as the Bulgarian veela mascots danced. The Irish leprechauns’ performance was less well received, but also had a lower casualty rate.

The teams, having been given their obligatory briefing whilst the audience was entertained by the national mascots, returned to starting positions.

The referee tapped his wand on the lid of the chest that stood in front of him, which flew open and released the game balls.

Before the Quaffle returned to earth after the momentum of its initial launch had dissipated, Mustafa had blown his whistle and the teams threw themselves upwards. The Irish chasers, living up to their formidable reputation, finished their first run in fourteen seconds flat, Moran carving her way past the Bulgarian keeper to score.

She had scored twice more, and Troy once, before their opposition began to rally, Krum dropping out of his search to strengthen his team’s line. That run, lasting a positively tortoise-like six and a half minutes, cost the Irish Quigley, the beater dropping out of the sky when a bludger crashed viciously into his shoulder with an impact Harry was thankful he couldn’t hear.

The stadium’s wards caught him a few feet from the ground, even as pale green robed mediwizards rushed out onto the pitch.

Quigley appeared to have been dispensable. The Bulgarians managed to log their first goal of the evening in the Irish team’s momentary confusion, but the world’s three greatest chasers quickly regained their inexorable rhythm, apparently spurred on the by the loss of their teammate.

The next half hour saw ten more goals from the Irish, increasing desperation from the Bulgarian crowd, and the return of Quigley, to thunderous roars from the shamrock-swathed section of the stands.

He was sent off by the referee shortly afterwards, but not before wreaking terrible revenge on Volkov, who appeared to have had half of the bones in his right hand shattered in the beater’s unexpected attack.

The Bulgarians put away one of the two penalties awarded.

When Mullet scored his fourth goal of the match the Bulgarian crowd let out a chorus of groans. One-eighty to twenty. Not even Krum could save them now.

He did his best, however, and after clipping Lynch out of the air in a vicious maneuver sufficiently accidental looking for Mustafa to let it pass, caught the snitch moments before the Irish chasers scored.

Two-forty, one-seventy.

Harry ignored Fudge as he looked around for a possible interpreter, in no mood to pass on the man’s clumsy gloating to the Bulgarian Minister, who he knew spoke English, and who appeared to be taking his country’s defeat gracefully.

He was distracted by Sirius’ whining.

“Sorry, godfather, but I really don’t think there’s any way you can argue this to be a win for you.” Harry told him, grinning slightly.

Sirius looked desperately at an unsympathetic Dorea.

“Auntie, you can’t mean to let your grandson gamble?”

She smiled sweetly at him.

“I really couldn’t care less, as long as he wins.”

“Which, Sirius, in case you remain in even the faintest doubt, he did,” Aunt Mim added.

By the time this conversation was finished, and Harry had told Sirius he’d collect his winnings once all of the leprechaun gold had vanished, the teams had made it to the Top Box.

They filed past both Ministers, each team member shaking their hands. Krum looked surly until Harry grinned at him, an expression which was grudgingly returned.

Ludo, looking slightly disappointed the match was over, handed the enormous silver cup off to Fudge as the Top Box was lit up from within. Fudge presented it to a rather battered looking Aiden Lynch, who raised it above his head in the standard appeal for adulation.


	12. Dinner Disturbed

“Welcome, Harry!” Lord Shafiq exclaimed warmly, clasping his hand in both of his own.

They’d been invited to join the Shafiqs for a late supper after the match. They hadn’t escaped the stadium until half nine, and now, gone ten, the Irish party was just getting started on the campsite below the bluff. The atmosphere amongst the great and the good was more staid, but the sounds of boisterous merriment nevertheless appeared to have affected all but the most stoic.

“Thank you, Darius. How kind of you to invite us to share your meal.”

The man twinkled.

“I don’t believe you’ve met my wife, Dalileh?”

“I haven’t yet had that privilege. And, gazing upon your ladyship, it can be considered nothing else.” Harry replied, hoping internally that his delivery was smooth enough to distract from what he considered a rather heavy-handed compliment.

Darius’ wife was in two notable respects his opposite. She was tall and she was slim. He’d married back into the Persian wizarding nobility his family had come from when he took a wife, and Harry thought amusedly that she was probably beautiful enough to have been worth the searching for.

Her dark eyes sparked with faint laughter.

“I am delighted to meet your lordship,” she said, with a softly exotic accent her husband and son lacked, extending an elegant hand for him to brush his lips against, “when my husband has already told me so much about you.”

Harry grinned.

“A beautiful woman who knows my weaknesses. I fear for myself.” He thought that it was somewhat ironic that beautiful women weren’t one of his weaknesses.

“You are our guest, there is nothing to fear here.” She reassured him, before acknowledging the rest of his party with gracious words, and extending an arm for him to take.

“Did your ladyship watch the match?”

“Dalileh, please, and no. For me the Quidditch has done little save force me to delay my repast to a somewhat uncivilised hour.”

“Harry. I sympathise with you, but cannot help but feel grateful that we have ended up dining together.”

She chuckled throatily, delicate gold jewellery tinkling softly.

“I can see why you and Liram appear to be getting along well.”

“Embarrassing me again, mother?” The subject of her comment asked as they entered the dining chamber.

The gold silk walls gleamed softly in the light of half a dozen chandeliers, and a large ebony dining table inlaid with mother of pearl groaned under the weight of silverware.

Liram was leant back against one of the dining chairs. He flashed a grin at Harry, before returning his attention to Dalileh.

“I understand that to be one of the primary duties of a mother.” She replied.

Liram smiled.

“Then I thank Merlin for your being less than dutiful.”

Harry grinned at his companion. “You become more exciting by the minute, Dalileh.”

“I’m sure my son will be delighted to hear that.”

Liram, smiling mischievously, turned mock-earnest eyes to Harry.

“Oh, no,” He assured, apparently close to laughing, “I assure you, I have a very boring mother.”

The rest of the group, having been guided back by Darius, watched the exchange with smiling indulgence.

“Right!” Exclaimed Lord Shafiq suddenly, clapping his hands together. “Let us sit and eat.”

They took their places around the table, Lord Shafiq and his wife at either end. Harry sat to Darius’ right, with Liram next to him.

A click of the beaming man’s fingers and half a dozen house elves came into the room, staggering under the weight of the dishes they bore. Lord and Lady Shafiq were the perfect hosts, explaining the Persian food to their guests and charming them with fascinating stories.

“Liram was telling me you might be interested in renewing the historic trade links between our Houses.” Darius commented once they’d finished the main course, steering the conversation towards seriousness as all but he, Harry and Liram were embroiled in their own discussions.

Harry paused to register his noticing of the change in tone.

“Indeed. Although I feel it is yet too early to deal in specifics, I am currently considering certain plans to rebuild the Potter family shipping interests.”

It took them most of the main course to hammer out the rough outlines of a deal, but Darius smiled and agreed to the majority of Harry’s terms as the dishes were cleared away.

“You have my thanks. Rest assured, in a few years time, you will have no regrets.” Harry told him.

“That’s what Darius told me when he proposed.” Dalileh commented amusedly from her end of the table, apparently having caught the tail end of their conversation.

They smiled at her implied jab.

“Perhaps that was a mistake.” Darius pretended to concede.

They laughed, and the conversation went back to lighthearted for the rest of the excellent meal.

* * *

They were just rising from their seats when a piercing scream rent the air and made them all freeze.

A few moments later a terrified looking house elf apparated into the room before addressing Darius.

“My lord,” he began squeakily, “there are bad people fighting outside.”

Before anyone could make comment they were all thrown to the ground. The shockwave, outrunning its sonic boom by more than a second, had blown straight through the pavilion’s wards. The silk wall facing out towards the campsite, windowless, buckled inwards, supporting metalwork bending in place.

Harry, Sirius, Dalileh and Liram were the first to react. Harry reached into a pocket of his robes to draw out a handful of small black stones. The other three drew their wands and stared around wildly. Harry twitched a finger and the stones rose into the air. Before the rest of the party could do more than stagger to their feet and point their wands at the misshapen wall, another gesture sent the pieces of obsidian flying to press against any exposed skin on those present.

Harry grasped his own stone.

_“Portus.”_

The world whirled. The pavilion’s already damaged anti-portkey ward was sheared away effortlessly.

Harry, Dalileh and Liram remained standing. The rest of the party landed on the cold marble tiles of the entrance hall. Harry ignored his companions, considering them safe for the time being, and stepped outside to stand underneath the colonnade and look out over the campsite.

Several hundred of the tents nearest the bluff were ablaze, magical fire burning with an almost, but thankfully not quite, Fiendfyre-like intensity. Past the screams and shouts, which had by now become a constant and terrified background cacophony, Harry could pick out groups of darkly robed and masked wizards moving in the flames. The fire shifted away from them, leaving a clear ten foot radius of scorched earth around each party. From this distance he could make out little save for their wildly gesticulating wands, presumably moving the flames to ever greater heights of blasting frenzy.

Before he could do so much as contemplate a course of action, he was distracted. A couple of score wizards standing on the bluff a few hundred feet away and attired similarly to those terrorising the campsite below, had apparently noticed his presence.

He’d absentmindedly noted the figures, but allowed himself to be distracted by the far more obviously dangerous inferno.

The forty masked shapes, who had been standing before the ruins of Lord Shafiq’s golden pavilion, started moving briskly towards him.

Harry felt a hand grasp his shoulder.

“We’d better get back inside.” Liram told him.

Harry smiled back and shrugged.

“I don’t think it will make much of a difference, to be honest. The wards are far stronger than the building itself.”

Even as he finished speaking the first of the masked figures, now only a few feet away from the edge of the wards, fired off a curse.

The blast of yellow light flew a couple of yards before stopping in its tracks and vanishing.

“Entrail-expelling, I believe.” Harry noted coolly to a shocked looking Liram as the remainder of their party joined the pair of them.

“Is this a fight?” An unfortunately eager-looking Sirius asked.

Dalileh, now standing next to Liram, was eyeing the attacking force with the professionally assessing gaze of a trained war witch.

“I fear not one we can win.” She said calmly.

“Eight, one a muggle, no offence dear lady, against forty would seem tricky odds.” Lord Shafiq noted in a tight voice.

Sirius appeared to have gone a little insane.

“They’re only Voldie’s old bitches.” He said insistently. “Mad-Eye always used to consider one hit-wizard against ten of his novices fair odds.”

Dalileh raised an eyebrow.

“You are the only hit-wizard here, Sirius, and an ex one at that.” She paused before tilting her head in the direction of the attackers. “And I very much doubt those are novices.”

The end of her statement was conveniently punctuated. The masked forms, having paused at the edge of the ward sphere for a consultation after seeing the entrail-expelling curse dispel, began their second attack with considerably more vigour.

As if to prove his status as someone who wasn’t a novice, a slight figure stepped to the front of the group, extending a wand. He moved its tip around for a moment, searching for something, before placing it delicately against the invisible protective shell.

“Skera! Ríða! Brjóta! Braka!” He exclaimed thunderously, his voice rolling across the gardens towards them.

A crackling spider web of ice blue spread outwards from the point of contact. It expanded rapidly, outlining the whole of the ward dome in twisting, spitting strands of light.

A momentary pause fell.

“Sundr!” The man roared in a great voice, releasing his spell.

A massive tearing sound was heard for an instant before it, and all other noise, was snapped off.

The centre point of the now shimmering dome of light high above them blazed with a sudden brilliance, blasting the ground below with its fire. It dimmed slightly before moving out and downwards along the ward dome in a searing ring of radiance.

Less than a second later it reached the point where the cursebreaker’s wand was still in contact. It gleamed with sudden unearthly glow at that point, drawing every last vestige of light from the dome before flashing out and down the man’s wand.

The wand shone before disintegrating under the strain. Its wielder collapsed suddenly and wordlessly.

A moment more of utter silence fell as the light vanished. Eyes adjusted back to seeing by the light of the inferno down below and the illuminations of the Twenty’s residences.

All that remained of the one attacker was a crumpled pile of gently smoking robes and a puddle of molten metal that had once been the poor man’s mask.

* * *

“What the fuck, Harry?” An awestruck Sirius asked what was rapidly becoming his favourite question.

“Are we not giving that poor man a minute’s silence, then?” Harry questioned with a somewhat inappropriate levity.

“Not before we’ve asked about his death.” A tense-looking Dalileh answered, gaze shifting between Harry and the still grouped and motionless attackers.

Harry shrugged.

“To be fair, it was more spectacular than I’d anticipated.” He paused. “But then I suppose that’s what you get when you try to use Old Norse curse-sundering against a lightning ward.”

* * *

The masked and presumed-to-be-Death-Eaters had finished conferencing.

They started out by all casting the entrail-expelling curse they knew, from experience, to be non-fatal to the caster. Thirty-odd flashes of yellow light winked momentarily into existence before flashing back out of it.

The cowardly ones kept with that, whilst the more adventurous branched out. Some other spells of questionable darkness seemed to have much prettier effects; they spattered and hissed and clattered against the ward sphere in little bursts and fans of multicoloured light.

They did not get through.

“I wonder how long it will be until the aurors get here?” Harry asked his companions quietly. “I know the Minister has left, but as I understood it there was a significant DMLE presence?”

Darius nodded. “Eight hundred enforcers and two hundred aurors. All the Ministry claimed it could spare.”

“I can’t see that there are more than a couple of hundred Death Eaters, all told.” Dalileh commented. “And even that would seem to stretch the logistics of secrecy.”

“One does have to wonder about their motivations.” Liram noted casually, doing an excellent impression of relaxed.

“Mmm. Odds on the Ministry apprehending anyone and finding anything out?” Harry asked.

Lord Shafiq tilted his head in apparently thoughtful contemplation. “Fifty-fifty on getting someone in to question. I don’t think I could offer odds on them getting anything out of that person.”

* * *

The attackers appeared to be wearing down. The barrage of blinding spells had become a trickle of dim ones. The wards showed no visible sign of weakening.

A few minutes later the assault was called off. Its participants began apparating away. The blaze in the campsite at last seemed to be under some measure of control as they saw groups of enforcers arriving at last.

There was soon only a single figure left at the edge of the ward sphere.

_“Morsmordre!”_ The man shouted in a hoarse voice.

Even as the enormous, vivid green, serpent-swallowing skull expanded against the sky, Harry raised his wand from where it was held loosely at his side. A short jerk and the robed figure was dragged inside the wards. Another gesture and he was bound tightly in steel cables, wand snapping out of his hand and into Harry’s.

A sudden spark of intuition told Harry not to let his companions too near to the bound figure now strugglingly rolling about on the grass. He frowned, murmuring softly, as the figure vanished suddenly.

“Probably an emergency portkey.” He suggested mildly. “I felt that ward tear slightly. It wouldn’t normally have worked, but the attack clearly drained a considerable amount of power.”

* * *

Naturally enough, law enforcement arrived shortly after that.

The aurors buzzed around the half-collapsed golden pavilion for a few minutes, before their scans revealed a distinct absence of bodies.

After that it was the singed robes, no longer smoking, which drew their attention. They didn’t find a body in those, either. By this point Harry had moved his party back indoors to the orangery, where they could sit on comfortable furniture and watch the world gradually stop burning.

“Lord Potter-Black! My name is Auror Captain Rufus Scrimgeour, might I be permitted past your wards?” The boomed question disturbed their quiet conversation.

Sighing internally, and not bothering to match the man’s ridiculously overpowered _Sonorus,_ Harry adjusted the ward sphere’s harmonics to permit his access, and that of half a dozen of his team; the number he thought this Scrimgeour would feel safe to advance on an unknown and unsecured location with.

“Tippy.” He called softly. One of the new elves popped into existence next to his chair, head lowered, but at least not doing the ridiculous bowing he was working hard to get rid of. “Would you go and invite our guests to join us?”

“Yes, my lord.” The elf replied politely.

A minute later the squad of hard-bitten aurors in full scarlet battle robes marched into the elegant room. The main indication of disturbance was the orange glow of the still-burning fires outside coming through the French doors and being reflected off the mirrored walls. The faint green radiance of the still hovering skull might also have indicated something amiss.

The aurors found a group of people, still dressed for a semi-formal dinner, lounging indolently on spindly furniture and all looking utterly composed.

Harry rose to greet the captain, who looked like a grizzled lion, receiving his bow with a polite inclination of the head.

“Captain, won’t you and your men sit?” He asked politely, gesturing them towards seats.

The man probably didn’t want to, but was equally afraid of causing offence, and he and his men occupied the proffered furniture.

“I take it there are no injuries?” He asked gruffly.

“I think not. Under the circumstances, the Dark Mark would seem to be somewhat unjustified.” Lord Shafiq addressed then man coolly. “One is inclined to inquire as to the reason it took such an inordinate amount of time for the aurors to arrive?”

Scrimgeour flushed dully, both at the dressing down and the fact that he hadn’t recognised or acknowledged Darius immediately.

“My lord.” He began stolidly. “The majority of the auror squads on duty were called away to Scotland after reports of an explosion. It took some time to investigate and then reform the units to come back down here.”

“And the enforcers?” Lord Shafiq snapped. “All eight hundred?”

The man frowned. “Asleep on the far side of the campsite, I suspect most of them. The rest, probably dead.”

“It seems the Death Eaters had the organisation your men so clearly lack, captain.” He stopped for a moment before continuing in a marginally softer tone. “Are you in charge of operations here?”

The man nodded.

“Until Director Bones arrives; she elected not to stay at the campsite as I understand it.”

“And Shacklebolt’s still on holiday, I suppose?”

The man nodded.

Lord Shafiq waved a hand irritably. “Then you and your men are dismissed, captain.”

Scrimgeour looked for a moment as though he wanted to argue, apparently not having anticipated the interview happening this way round, but eventually stood.

“Well, now that we know we’re all safe under the capable care of Captain Scrimgeour, why don’t we go to bed?” Harry suggested lightly.

* * *

“DOZENS DEAD!” Exclaimed the Prophet’s headline that afternoon, suspended above an enormous photo of the Dark Mark. It had taken the Ministry nearly ten hours to find someone with sufficient expertise to take it down.

By the time Harry and his companions had risen, the campsite had been largely abandoned. The smoking wrecks of several thousand burned tents sat in puddles of the filthy water that had been diverted from a nearby river to put out the blaze. Ministry search teams could be seen combing through the wreckage in search of bodies. There were a lot, most disfigured beyond recognition. The Prophet headline was, if anything, conservative.

They were soon ensconced back in Grimmauld place, somewhat relieved to be away from the stench of char and burnt flesh the wards hadn’t quite managed to filter out.

Sirius came back that evening announcing that he’d rejoined the aurors, whatever he thought of Kingsley’s leadership.

* * *

Big red steam train. Little noisy children. Now obligatory six-foot radius established by uniformed footmen as a defence against the pressing crowds.

Platform nine and three-quarters was, all in all, much as expected.

Liram and his parents managed to pass the circle of guards to greet Harry and his family with smiles.

Remus had flooed to Hogwarts a couple of days ahead to establish his rooms, so Harry was accompanied by only his aunt, grandmother, and Sirius, now looking suitably resplendent in his auror captain’s robes.

“Now, Pup,” his godfather began with mock-severity, “I expect you get into lots of trouble as soon as possible.”

Harry nodded along. “Of course, after all, every generation should be an improvement upon the last.”

“Not in the respects Sirius was known for.” Dorea interjected drily.

“Oops.” Harry paused. “How is interference going with Augusta?”

Dorea frowned at him slightly. “I suspect you have wounded her more than superficially. She will not be easy to bring round.”

“I have every faith in your ability, granny.” He shrugged. “If it doesn’t work then I can just focus on Neville. It’s only three years until he inherits.”

Lord Shafiq raised an eyebrow. “Building a power base already, Harry? You wouldn’t be anticipating a war, by any chance?”

Harry studied his expression. “They do happen.”

Liram attempted to soften the sudden change in tone. “I’m not sure even the prospect of a war is worth spending time with Neville.”

“I fear he would indeed become a source of much frustration.” Harry acknowledged. “Anyway, we’d better get on.” He drew and flicked his wand to levitate his neatly stacked cases.

Liram sighed. “I wish the Ministry would emancipate me. At this rate I won’t be able to use magic until I’m seventeen.”

Darius chuckled. “You’re allowed to at home.”

“Well, off with the pair of you, then,” Dorea said impatiently, “the elderly aren’t meant to stand on cold station platforms all day.”

Harry eyed her floor-length coat, glossy sable fur heavy with warming charms, pointedly.

“Be grateful you’re not coming with us to Scotland, then.”

She winked at him good naturedly. “Someone has to stay and keep an eye on my nephew.” She told him.

“And run London’s social circle of old biddies.”

That remark got him a reproving slap on the shoulder.

“We’d better go now.” Harry told Liram, indicating his grandmother.

Liram embraced his parents. Harry hugged Sirius and Aunt Mim.

“We’ll see you at Yule.” Liram told the assembled adults.

Darius twinkled mischievously.

“I suspect I could recoup some of my lost galleons if I persuaded you to make a bet on that.”

Liram looked in quizzically at Harry, who raised an eyebrow to indicate his own lack of comprehension. The adults seemed unwilling to clarify, however, so they boarded the train and found a free compartment. Harry noted with amusement that their combined luggage filled the racks that should have held eight students’ worth.

The whistle blew at a minute before the hour, and on the dot of eleven the Hogwarts Express chugged its way slowly out of the station. A couple of Liram’s friends found the pair a few minutes after the train’s departure, and Harry was introduced to Anthony Goldstein and Padma Patil. He was quite handsome and she very pretty. They both came from old and well respected families.

* * *

Harry was almost grateful when the compartment door slamming open distracted Padma from the half-lidded gaze she had been focusing on him for the previous half hour.

“They’re saying Harry Potter’s on the train.” The gangly redhead standing in the middle of the entrance stated. “That would be you, would it?” He asked Harry.

He shrugged. “Who can say? Identities can be forged, of course, and sometimes in this country I wonder whether I have become but a fable of Dumbledore’s twisted imagination.”

The redhead, who he was beginning to recognise as one of the noisy ones from the World Cup, looked confused for a moment, before turning to Neville Longbottom, who was standing, fidgeting nervously, to his left.

“Neville, this him?”

Neville nodded shyly. “Hi, Harry.”

Harry flashed him a smile that made Padma release a sigh so obvious Anthony frowned at her.

“Hey, Neville, do I want to know who your friend is?” He asked, gesturing his head dismissively towards the gangly boy.

“Ron. Ron Weasley.” The subject of their discussion said importantly. “I’ve come to invite you to join us Gryffindors in our compartment.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “That’s very forward of you, Mr Weasley. I find it difficult to imagine you being more charming than my present company.”

Weasley looked around pugnaciously. “I’m much better than pretty boy Ravenclaws.”

Harry smirked. “You find Padma and myself ugly, then?” He questioned archly.

A dull flush was his answer.

“I don’t believe we’ve been introduced.” Harry, having already moved on from Weasley, addressed the boy to his right.

The boy looked nervously at the redhead for a second before speaking.

“Seamus Finnigan.” He said shortly.

Harry, now having mentally dismissed all three of the boys standing just outside the compartment, raised an inquiring eyebrow at Liram, who smiled before turning to address them.

“You guys wanna fuck off now?” He asked casually.

The Weasley boy sputtered for a moment, flushing to fade his freckles and match his hair.

Harry was vaguely concerned, internally, that this dismissal was going to offend Neville, but an objective mindset had already told him both that he couldn’t handle someone like Neville being a regular hanger-on, and that if he ever needed him in future, he would be easy enough to lure away.

The Weasley boy looked at Harry one last time, as if waiting for him to rise and join them. A few seconds of Ron staring, and Harry ignoring, and the redhead left the compartment with a disgruntled humph and a disappointingly quiet slam of the sliding door.

“Well,” Harry began cheerfully. “Cards, anyone?”

Padma responded eagerly.

“Exploding snap?”

Harry smirked faintly. “I was thinking strip poker.”

Padma looked confused, whilst Liram raised an eyebrow.

“What’s that?” Anthony asked.

“It’s a card game where you’re either good, or you take your clothes off to make up for not being.”

Liram snorted with laughter. Anthony was looking nervous. Padma seemed to be a mixture of apprehensive and aroused.

“But maybe that’s taking things a bit too far.” Harry conceded. “How about we play without the stripping?”

Anthony looked relieved, Padma disappointed, and Liram still amused.

“Teach us, oh great leader.” He said.

Harry drew his basilisk wand and gestured it casually to conjure a baize-topped card table, before flicking it to summon a couple of packs of playing cards and set of chips from his luggage.

He spent the next few hours happily teaching his companions how to play. They picked up the unfamiliar game quickly, even if Padma was easily bluffed and distracted.

Half-an-hour from Hogsmeade, with the express chugging merrily over one of Scotland’s many muggle viaducts, Liram reminded them they needed to change into their school robes.

Padma changed first, before being dismissed, blushing, from the compartment. Harry felt slightly guilty changing with Liram and Anthony without notifying them of his sexuality, but he wanted to be slightly more settled before coming out to the wider public, and he couldn’t deny there wasn’t an ulterior motive in wanting to see the other two in nothing but underwear.

Anthony turned out to be skinny in an attractively bookish sort of way. Liram was fucking stunning.

Harry had known that, of course, but there was something about all that smooth and lithely rippling muscle beneath flawless tanned skin that made his mouth go dry. He was thankful his own frame attracted enough attention to cover up his staring.

“Fuck, you’re fit.” Liram commented, as he eyed him with what Harry suddenly desperately hoped was more than straight-boy admiration.

“You’ll have to work out with me.” Harry suggested lightly as he pulled on a pair of trousers.

“If Padma had seen you like that she’d be panting.” Liram joked, grinning as he saw Anthony frowning from the corner of his eye.


	13. Blackleprickle

Hogsmeade turned out to be a fairly small settlement; a few hundred houses clustered around a quaint high street and single-platform station. Liram dragged Harry after him to one of the thestral-drawn carriages. Harry was only too thankful to escape the giant man leading the throng of first years towards a flotilla of small boats.

With space expansion charms and without luggage, each of the carriages was able to seat about twenty. The four of them from the compartment on the train gathered at the back of theirs, dim lighting and subtly applied notice-me-not charms helping to prevent anyone from noticing Harry.

Hogwarts Castle was undeniably impressive, Harry acknowledged as the carriage clattered along the path that ran beside the lake. Admittedly, though larger, it wasn’t quite as beautiful as Antheon; its grey towers, although tall, were too bulky to have that same soaring grace. It was still, however, a dramatic silhouette against the starlit sky, surrounded by low mountains and with hundreds of warmly lit windows.

Not having been officially briefed, but assuming he’d be sorted along with the incoming first years, Harry waited with Liram off to one side of the entrance hall as the older students crowded past. Eventually, a tall, thin and severe looking woman, dark hair streaked with grey and pinned tightly back, swept past.

“That’s McGonagall.” Liram told him. “Head of Transfiguration. She’ll be off to escort the first years up from the boathouse.”

“Thanks.” Harry replied. “I’d better go say hi.”

“Fine. Hope to see you in Ravenclaw.”

They exchanged a quick grin before separating.

“Evening, Professor.”

McGonagall didn’t slow her pace as she glanced sideways at him.

“Good evening, Mr Potter-Black.” She acknowledged in a surprisingly warm tone.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, professor.” He continued pleasantly. “I understand you taught my parents?”

She nodded as they continued on down a flight of well-lit steps and along a corridor.

“I did. Lily and James were both excellent students, although I feel James never quite achieved his potential. Judging by your answers to the assessment I was asked to send to you, you have more than inherited their talents.”

“Thank you, professor. I can only hope my practical work is equally satisfactory.”

She smiled at him thinly as they came to a halt before a pair of heavy oak doors.

Before Harry could come up with something to break the few seconds silence the doors vibrated under a loud knock.

McGonagall twitched the wand that had dropped from her sleeve and the doors swung open with a creak that a simple charm could have sorted, but apparently hadn’t so as to add to the dramatic effect.

“The new firs’ years, Professor McGonagall.” The enormous man said respectfully, size only emphasised by the hundred or so tiny figures huddled behind him.

“Thank you, Hagrid.” Came the crisp reply.

Hagrid appeared to spot Harry at that point, eyes widening with recognition after a moment, before his mouth spread into a broad grin. Harry suspected that it was only McGonagall’s presence the prevented him from being bear hugged.

As it was, Hagrid stomped past them and off towards the room where the welcoming feast was presumably being held.

“Follow me.”

McGonagall led the throng back to towards the entrance hall, and into an antechamber.

“Welcome to Hogwarts.” She greeted the incoming students finally, the faintest hint of a smile blossoming on an otherwise immovable countenance.

“This will, Merlin willing, be your school for the next seven years of your lives. I warn you now, Hogwarts does not tolerate laziness. We are one of the world’s preeminent magical institutions, and I fully intend that our reputation be kept.”

She paused for a moment, eyeing the largely pale-faced students severely.

“Work hard. Learn well. There is nothing a Hogwarts graduate cannot, and has not achieved.” She finished, on a slightly more positive note.

Harry was amused to see a few of the new first years nodding firmly to themselves, as though internally resolving to do as the professor had demanded.

“I will take you through to the Great Hall in a few moments, whereupon you will be sorted into the houses you will call your own for the duration of your stay here. All have long and illustrious histories, and all have produced outstanding witches and wizards.”

“I will leave Mr Potter-Black here to keep an eye on you.” She finished peremptorily, before leaving.

Harry, who had attracted a fair few glances already, suddenly found every eye focused intently on him.

“Hi guys.” He said. “To be honest, you can do what you want. I have no idea why McGonagall trusted me to keep an eye on you. I’m being sorted too, by the way,” he added helpfully.

A few nervous smiles answered him, and before long they were talking quietly amongst themselves. None quite gathered the courage to speak to him.

Ten minutes later McGonagall returned.

Another “Follow me,” and the eleven year olds traipsed behind as Harry fell into step with the professor.

An enormous hall filled with candlelight greeted them.The body of the room housed about eighty round tables, each surrounded by a dozen chairs, most occupied. A long table stood on its dais and stretched along the far end of the room, backing onto an enormous set of stained glass windows emblazoned with the Hogwarts coat of arms.

The round tables were separated into four sections, two aisles dividing them and crossing in the centre. McGonagall led her group through the middle of the hall and up onto the dais at the front, where an old, battered, pointed wizard’s hat in brown leather sat slumped on a three legged stool.

“The sorting of the new students will now begin.” Professor McGonagall started. She then decided she’d better explain something.

“For the first time in nearly twenty years, Hogwarts will be welcoming a student into the school after their first year. Mr Potter-Black will be joining the fourth years and I’m quite sure you will all offer him a warm welcome.”

Harry had cast the strongest Notice-me-Not charm he thought he could get away with on himself before walking in. That hadn’t been enough apparently, seeing as even before McGonagall’s announcement half of the hall had been staring at him. Now, as he let the charm drop, the rest followed suit.

“Mr Potter-Black.” McGonagall continued. “Please come forward. We will sort you first.”

He stepped towards the stool, and paused, letting his basilisk wand fall into his hand. A brief twitch and the stool became an elegant straight-backed chair in mahogany. He hadn’t really done the wordless transfiguration to show off, although the murmurs of appreciation from behind him were flattering, but rather to avoid looking ridiculous crouched over a stool designed for people more than a foot shorter than he was.

He lifted the hat, sat down, crossed his legs, and put it on. His first thought before being distracted was that it was unlikely to fit any of the students to follow him, and didn’t seem to have any automatic resizing charms. As it was, he could watch his audience stare curiously.

“I’ve never been placed at a rakish angle before.” A dry voice told him.

“Enjoy it whilst it lasts.” Harry advised the hat. “I doubt anyone to follow has a big enough head to manage it.”

“Indeed not.” The voice replied, sounding faintly amused. “Speaking of which, do you mind letting me into yours?”

Harry shrugged mentally, burying his delight that even a thousand year old hat found itself unable to get past his barriers.

“There you go. Although surely all of this is just a formality?”

The hat didn’t speak for a moment.

“This is hardly your entire mind, Mr Potter-Black.”

Harry wondered whether he could raise an eyebrow mentally. The hat’s snort indicated that his attempt had been successful.

“It’s enough evidence, isn’t it? Well, at least enough to satisfy the criteria you’re programmed with?”

The hat sighed.

“I suppose so.” It said almost grumpily. “Well, then, Mr Potter-Black, might I be the first to welcome you to…”

“No.” Harry interrupted.

This time the hat raised an eyebrow, which was impressive when it didn’t actually have one on any plane of existence.

“I’m sorry?”

“Why don’t we rock the boat a little?”

“Rock the boat?” The hat asked, either curious or simply confused by an unknown expression.

“Yes. You did it with Sirius, after all.”

The hat snorted.

“That boy at eleven was the most Gryffindorish child I’ve ever sat on the head of.”

“I’m sure he’ll be flattered to hear that. Although, that statement does bring into question the efficacy of the privacy charms you supposedly bear?”

“I’m a thousand year old hat. I do what I want.” The hat said breezily.

Harry seized his opportunity.

“Exactly. So, how about this?” He asked, letting another stream of information out from behind his barriers to be released into the pool of stuff the hat had already sorted through.

This time the silence was longer.

“Brave.” The hat said eventually.

“If you suggest fucking Gryffindor one more time I’ll give you red and gold tassels.” Harry threatened with a fake snarl.

The hat chuckled slightly, before asking, slightly nervously.

“Am I allowed to do this?”

“I don’t see why not.” Harry reasoned. “Break that glass ceiling, rebrand yourself as a full-bore shaper of destinies.”

“Hmm.” The hat sounded interested. “These tassels?”

Harry laughed, only realizing he’d done it aloud when the expressions of his audience in the room flickered slightly in surprise. He could see McGonagall standing off to one side, looking confused, probably upset at having her tightly planned schedule ruined by the quarter of an hour he’d now been sitting under the hat.

“I can do you something much better than that.” Harry reassured, returning to his conversation. “I reckon that together we can even stop Dumbledore being able to change you back. Although… if I did this…” he continued, thrusting a mental image forwards, “then he might just wear you all the time himself.”

The hat literally purred its approval.

“I like it.”

“We have a deal then?”

A momentary pause.

“Well, I was getting bored.” The hat sighed. “Stop by for a chat whenever you like, I get lonely sometimes…” It finished miserably.

“Of course I will,” Harry assured it. “But I think we’d better draw this one to a close before McGonagall pitches a fit.”

“You’re probably right. At her age blood pressure can be so fragile.” The hat snickered, before drawing itself together.

“Here we go…”

Harry grinned brightly at the room, watching most of the girls and a few of the boys nearest him blush.

“BLACKLEPRICKLE!”

* * *

Absolute silence met the hat’s sudden announcement.

Confusion deepened into bewilderment.

Harry stood, still smiling. He thanked the sorting hat, before removing it and placing it down on the vacated chair.

Drawing his wand again he gestured towards the hat, muttering a few words unintelligible to McGonagall next to him, and picturing his intent.

He released the magic slowly, and after a second felt the hat reach out and grasp at it eagerly. A few more minor gestures and the enchantment was inextricably bound to the hat’s own magic. His smile widened as it altered in front of him, shape amorphous as it shifted and brightened, before settling. If a hat could look smug, he thought, this one did. Having finished that, he looked up towards a faintly frowning Dumbledore, all silver beard and blingy throne and mustard yellow robes.

“Evening, Headmaster. A fifth house, I believe. What an interesting happenstance.” He said lightly.

Not waiting for a reply, he turned back round, and walked briskly past the blankly staring faces to the centre of the hall, at the intersection of the two aisles. A flick of his wand conjured a table and a dozen chairs like the one the sorting hat now sat on. The furniture would last until the school could make more permanent arrangements, he reasoned.

Harry took the seat facing the head table and waited impassively.

McGonagall seemed somewhat at a loss. Eventually Dumbledore rose, spreading his arms in papal benediction. His gesture also revealed that the sleeves of his robes dropped down into enormous wing shapes, so that in the brilliantly illuminated hall he ended up looking something like a gospel singer crossed with the sun.

“A fifth house.” He declared with aching solemnity, and sat, nodding imperiously to a still flustered McGonagall.

“Abrahams, Sebastian.”

The summoned child; brown hair, boring face, came forwards slowly.

McGonagall chivvied him to the chair and hat.

“RAVENCLAW!”

Harry could almost feel McGonagall’s sigh of relief as her world righted itself and some semblance of normality returned.

The hat, as if in apology, swept through the gathered children with startling efficiency, reaching a rate of ten students a minute in its decisiveness. The other eleven conjured chairs proved unnecessary. Harry wasn’t particularly surprised, or even disappointed. Nevertheless, he decided he probably needed to go a recruitment drive.

He searched the Ravenclaw section of tables until his eyes met Liram’s. He quirked an eyebrow and tilted his head in the direction of the seat next to him. Liram, probably marginally more laid back than the rest of the school, smirked slightly before rising and coming over to join him.

“Never a dull moment.” He declared cheerfully, sitting down.

“I do my best.”

Dumbledore rose again at this point. Silence fell slowly.

“Welcome back!” The beaming old man exclaimed. “A fresh year, and already some fresh excitements.” He looked directly at an unaffected Harry as he said that. “I believe I have some more to share with all of you, but I will let your exhilaration build, I think, as we all gorge ourselves on the earth’s bounty.”

Food arrived as he sat down, in what even Harry had to admit was a smoothly timed piece of magic. Unfortunately, the house elves seemed unaware of the addition of an extra table, so Liram and Harry sat facing two sets of conjured cutlery and crystal, but no food.

Liram solved this dilemma quickly enough, drawing his own wand to summon half a dozen dishes from the surrounding tables, before conjuring a pair of porcelain plates.

“You have excellent taste.” Harry complimented him, helping himself to food.

Liram shrugged.

“I do my best,” he said, grinningly parodying Harry’s words.

They sat and chatted happily for a few minutes before they were joined by a girl.

The blonde seated herself neatly on Harry’s other side.

“Good evening, Lord Potter-Black.” She said smoothly.

“Good evening, Miss Greengrass.” He replied, lifting pale fingers to his lips even as he stared into ice blue eyes. “You are, if possible, even more beautiful than your mother.”

Her lips quirked in faint amusement, but no trace of a blush stained those marble cheeks.

“Thank you. Might I sit and eat with you?”

“Of course.”

A lazy wave of his wand and a third place setting was laid, another and the dishes that had been nearest to Daphne at her own table, presumably what the Hogwarts elves had learned to be her favourites, were summoned.

Her smile expressed gratitude, but no weakness, as she helped herself to food and began to eat daintily.

Harry and Liram were both too well trained to show any indication of surprise at the appearance of the girl, although Harry by now knew his friend well enough to detect it in the faint set of his face.

Conversation was made quickly, however.

“Loyal, brave, clever, cunning, and?” Liram questioned suddenly.

Harry guessed at the substance of the question, but still raised an eyebrow at his friend.

“House traits.”Daphne said shortly, also eyeing him with curiosity.

Liram nodded. “However inaccurate in reality, they exist in theory. Does… Blackleprickle have one?” He named the house uncertainly, as though not quite sure he’d caught what the hat had shouted.

Harry smirked faintly.

“Interesting.”

Liram looked momentarily nonplussed, Daphne raised a pale brow.

“I’m sorry?” She enquired.

“Nothing more, little less.” Harry said. “I just asked the sorting hat to give Blackeprickle all the interesting students.”

His two companions eyed him, frowning.

“That’s why, of course, you two were shoe-ins.” He said.

“I’m sorry?” This time it was Liram asking.

“You’re both members of Blackleprickle now.” Harry told them. “You’re sat at the table and everything, besides, we probably need a few more members if we’re going to have any chance at the house cup this year.” He frowned slightly. “Quidditch is going to be slightly tricky with just the three of us, too.”

Liram shrugged.

“Well, why not, it might be fun.”

Daphne looked perhaps a little more uncomfortable, but was smooth enough to realise she was committed, at least for the moment, and let it slide

“And Blackleprickle?” Liram asked next.

“Its not really too difficult to work out, but I’d prefer to tell you later.”

Liram nodded noncommittally.

They sat eating quietly for a few more minutes.

“And the sorting hat?” Daphne inquired delicately.

Harry shrugged.

“The price it charged for its complicity. I admit, not everyone can pull off the Carmen Miranda look, but at least it now actually fits an eleven year old.”

Liram raised an amused eyebrow.

“I assume also that, with the hat’s own support, Dumbledore would find it difficult to return it to its original appearance.”

Harry smirked.

“Almost impossible. And, of course, all of the influential conservatives with no sense of humour are going to be convinced he’s left it that way deliberately, for his own amusement.”

“Which he might well have done anyway.” Daphne said with a faint hint of condescension.

They were interrupted once more by the rising headmaster.

“My students.” He began, lifting his arms again to show off his plumage.

“It is my sad duty to announce that this year there will be no inter-House Quidditch Tournament.” He deadpanned.

Harry and Liram frowned. A few less composed Gryffindors shouted something unintelligibly Gryffindorish.

“Before I am, how do the muggles put it?”

“Lynched?” Suggested Harry loudly enough to make those on the surrounding tables giggle.

“Exactly.” Agreed a beaming headmaster.

“Before I am, as Mr Potter-Black suggests, lynched, I must offer at your feet an alternative. Ladies and gentlemen, it is my proud duty to announce that this year Hogwarts will play host to the return of the Triwizard Tournament!”

For a man who had probably been expecting rapturous applause, he worked quite well with the confounded mutters he got.

“The Triwizard Tournament.” He continued serenely. “It was originally founded some eight centuries ago and was a competition between the then three preeminent schools of magic in Europe: Hogwarts, Beauxbatons and Durmstrang. It gradually expanded to encompass a few other institutions, and constituted a series of three dangerous and challenging tasks undertaken by the champion who represented each.”

He paused.

“I feel it my duty to inform you that the tournament was cancelled some hundred and fifty years ago, when it was considered too unsafe following an unusually large number of fatalities.”

His expression became solemn and calming as if in response to the suddenly anxious whispering.

“Rest assured, however, that the Ministry has worked immensely hard on the safety and security of the returning tournament. No champion should find themselves in mortal danger.”

“Reassuring.” Daphne commented sardonically.

“Now,” Dumbledore continued brightly, “onto the particulars.”

“Due to the nature of the tournament, its difficulty, and the dedication and commitment required of those taking part, it has been decided that entry is to be restricted solely to those of age, seventeen, or sixteen with a parent or guardian’s permission.”

It was difficult to tell whether the muttering that sprung up at this was angry or reassured.

“I am delighted to announce the participation of some twelve schools in this year’s tournament, the greatest number there has ever been. Additionally, each school will be permitted two champions, in an attempt to negate the influence of Lady Luck on each school’s chances.”

“Or to make sure at least a few make it through to the final round.” Liram suggested cynically.

“Research the tournament.” Dumbledore continued. “Consider fully committing yourself to such a course. Do not make the decision lightly, for there is no turning back and the path ahead is dangerous.” He smiled suddenly. “On a lighter note, I have every faith in my students and would like nothing better than to see Hogwarts win. The preeminent institutions of the modern magical world are competing, and we stand at their pinnacle. Goodnight.”

He seated himself.

The murmuring of the students grew rapidly into the full-blown hubbub of excited conversation as they rose and began exiting the hall.

“Mr Potter-Black.”

Harry turned his head to face McGonagall.

“Yes, Professor?”

“Arrangements for your accommodation.” She said crisply.

Harry frowned faintly.

“I’m sure there must be some free space for a new house somewhere.” He said with a faint note of question.

“The south tower is empty.” Liram suggested quickly, responding to Harry's quiet prompt.

“The south tower is uninhabitable, Mr Shafiq.” McGonagall continued. “Besides, I hardly think it appropriate for a student to reside on their own so isolated from the rest of their compatriots.”

Harry smiled reassuringly. “You needn’t worry Professor; Liram and Daphne have both joined me in Blackleprickle. Besides, if this tower is structurally sound then I’m quite sure we can make it entirely habitable.”

McGonagall frowned, turning towards his companions. “What are Professors Flitwick and Snape going to think of this?” She asked in a voice inches away from irate.

Liram answered.

“We are, of course, grateful for the support we have received from our heads of house these last three years, but have decided that we would rather transfer to Blackleprickle.” He said diplomatically.

Daphne was frowning, but had apparently decided to go along with things for now.

Harry had decided that McGonagall was sufficiently inflexible that they could well be standing there all night debating with her. He was just getting ready to press matters when a light puffing became audible.

“Professor.” Harry grinned as he greeted the new arrival.

“Harry, m’boy.”The chubby man said jovially, smiling broadly.

“Horace, might I ask what you are doing?” Questioned a confused a McGonagall.

“Of course, m’dear.” The man agreed, settling himself comfortably on a nearby chair. Harry watched amusedly as the sage green smoking jacket stretched itself magically over the man’s seated bulk.

“Professor Slughorn has kindly agreed to become Head of Blackleprickle.” Harry told McGonagall cheerfully.

She looked as though she’d been slapped.

“And precisely when was this arrangement reached?”

“Oh, a couple of weeks ago.” Harry said breezily.

“Indeed.” Professor Slughorn agreed, nodding, now apparently quite recovered from his walk down from the head table. “You may leave my students with me, Minerva. I will see that they are suitably accommodated. We can discuss timetables in the morning.” He finished with a faintly dismissive note.

She stood there for a minute longer, before her own uncertainty forced her to leave them.

“Liram has suggested the south tower become Blackleprickle’s accommodations.” Harry told the professor, who thought for a moment before grinning again.

“Excellent idea, Mr Shafiq! Potions is clearly not your only strength. There are also, as I recall, some rather nice chambers nearby that might make an excellent space for my humble self.” He said happily. “If one of you could just give me a hand up, then we shall go at once!” He declared.

Harry and Liram both grasped an arm, pulling the professor’s bulk to its feet.

“I must say,” Slughorn began as they started walking, “I’m delighted to see both you, Miss Greengrass, and you, Mr Shafiq, in Blackleprickle.” He chuckled merrily.

“Thank you, professor.” Daphne said politely.

Harry thought privately that she was probably reassured to have an entirely respectable ex-Slytherin as her new head of house.

“I was honoured, of course,” Slughorn told the three of them confidingly, “when Harry wrote to me last month, raising the possibility of fifth house. I must say, I didn’t quite believe you at the time, m’boy. First head of the only new House since the founders’ days.” He commented with immense satisfaction.

“Here we are.” He said at last, as they reached a set of large iron doors at the end of the corridor.

They opened easily enough, and they found themselves standing on a short bridge over the lake. The walkway was completely enclosed by stonework and windows, but even on such a mild night it was draughty. Another identical set of doors stood at the far end. Slughorn had to summon a key from the depths of the castle to open these.

“Borrowed these from Filch.” He said. “Don’t think they’ve been used since Dumbledore was a boy.” He chuckled as he let them in.

The room beyond was circular and perhaps fifty feet in diameter, its vaulted ceiling arching high overhead.

It was also entirely bare, and slightly damp. The bareness stood to reason since it had been abandoned for more than a century, the dampness because of both that and the fact that it rose straight up from the Black lake.

“This is excellent.” Harry declared to his frowning companions.

“It’s going to need some work m’boy.” Slughorn told him.

“The builders will be in tomorrow.” Harry assured him. “But for tonight…” He drew his basilisk wand to send drying charms scouring around the window frames and stonework, followed by some warming charms, a dozen conjured torches, sets of curtains, and three comfortable beds.

Slughorn looked delighted. “All your mother’s talent and more,” he declared happily.

Daphne and Liram seemed reassured, particularly when a number of house elves began appearing next to each bed with their luggage.

“I’ll bid you goodnight, then.” Slughorn said.

“Goodnight, professor,” they chorused as the fat figure waddled out into the corridor.

They all went to bed fairly quickly after he’d left, Daphne conjuring a curtain around hers for modesty.

* * *

Harry woke early. It was Friday morning. Classes didn’t officially start until Monday so students could settle in and timetables could be sorted, although those in the upper years would no doubt be consulting with teachers already.

By the time Liram and Daphne had risen, cast freshening charms, and clothed themselves, Harry was sat with an architect, the pair of them poring over a set of floor plans spread out over a large table between them. The tower was ten storeys high, each level a single circular room of the same diameter. A smaller tower clung to the outside and held a broad helix of steps.

“I reckon we can have a floor each at this point; the Hogwarts board isn’t going to object if I pay for the renovations out of my own pocket.” Harry told Daphne and Liram once they’d been introduced to the architect and sat.

The other two nodded.

“So if we decorate the common room and take the top three floors for ourselves then there are still another six to accommodate anyone who joins the house.”

“We’re going to get accused of special treatment.” Daphne said in a voice of faint concern.

Liram shrugged.

“Who gives a fuck? When they hear how much space we’ve got they’ll all want to join anyway, so most won’t want to offend us.” His expression hardened. “No, Harry, explain this Blackleprickle stuff to us.”

Harry had decided that if he was going to be friends with Daphne he’d better be honest, bearing in mind both that her father was a member of the Twenty and that she herself was clearly formidably intelligent.

“Okay. I’m the Lord Black. I needed something to placate the old families sworn to me in that capacity. I needed to demonstrate to them that I’m not a light-wizard Lord Potter above all else. Godric Gryffindor, as you’ll know, was a scion of a bastard line descended from the Potters. The Potters’ heraldic emblem is a Griffin, and Godric was given permission to incorporate that into his house’s name, and to use a lion as its mascot. It was a wise decision on the part of my ancestor; the Potters’ house traditionally educates the children of four houses of the Twenty, which has helped bind their loyalty and brought us prestige.”

Liram and Daphne were both nodding, albeit with faint frowns.

“And by forming a new house with Black associations you’re seen to be attempting something similar?” Liram asked.

Harry nodded.

Daphne raised an eyebrow.

“And my presence, and Liram’s, both as heirs to members of the Twenty, become indicative of your success?”

Harry remained impassive, but was internally glad that he hadn’t underestimated Daphne.

“Exactly.”

Liram grinned at him.

“So you strengthen your authority over the pushy Black old bloods, and we get big new rooms?”

“That’s about the size of it.”

Liram shrugged. “I’ll have to write to my father, of course, but I suspect he’ll be fine with it. He’s normally laid back, and just wants me to be happy.”

Harry raised an enquiring eyebrow at Daphne, who looked back at him with sparkling amusement.

“I must assume,” she began, “from your apparent intelligence, that you have deduced the major reason for my presence here?”

“Of course, but it wouldn’t be polite to discuss it without your permission.”

She smiled faintly. “I take it by your frankness that this gentlemen here…” she said, inclining her head towards the curiously watching architect, “is sworn to you?”

“He is.”

“Then deduce.”

“You’re here because your father wants you here.” Harry said coolly.

She inclined her head. “The major reason, I acknowledge, but easy enough. Anything further?”

Harry grinned. “So much more. Your father will have briefed you to get close to me, as the most influential and politically powerful student currently at Hogwarts. He’s noted for his decisiveness. The other dark families will be thinking about how to approach me, encouraged by my power and being Lord Black, but held back by the light associations of The-Boy-Who-Lived and the Potters. Your father positions you early, pulling off a brilliant political coup if he gains my support.”

Another nod. “Exactly as it was explained to me.”

Harry grinned. “And then you come in. You’re happy to be the perfect Slytherin, the trained ice princess, but all the same looking for opportunities to push a bit away, demonstrate your own brilliance.”

She looked slightly surprised, before smiling again.

“Continue.”

“Your father would probably have wanted you to back off last night, before you were dragged into another house and a confusing situation. You decided to run with it. New house, new opportunities. Liram’s here, I’m here. Lots of blood and power. Slytherin has plenty of aristocrats, heirs to the Twenty and otherwise, but all in a firmly established hierarchy.

You’re stuck behind a queue of misogynists and narrow-minded supremacists in Slytherin. Sure, you’ll make an excellent marriage: you’re likely to be a member of the Twenty yourself one day so you can take your pick of any of them. But your husband’s house might take precedence; if it didn’t then the marriage wouldn’t be nearly as spectacular as you’d want. Here, however, you’re less trapped. Your decisions can be more objective. It may be easier to escape or delay an arranged marriage. You can build your own power in a new house, full of opportunities and free of associations.”

She his her surprise well, Harry mused.

“Very impressive.”

Harry grinned.

“And, of course, you’ll explain all of this in your next letter to your father. If you want, you can even explain how much I deduced. He’ll be impressed by me, and by you. You can sway him to your side easily enough, and, with luck, any vague thoughts of having a son to supersede you in the order of inheritance will be finally banished. Something which, I suspect, has been a major goal for quite a while.”

She shrugged. “Of course it has.” She eyed him piercingly. “You realise, of course, that he’s quite likely to want us to marry.”

“Almost certainly. But then, I don’t have a guardian, so I can delay and lie and give you as much time as you’d ever need to make your own decisions.”

She smiled whilst her eyes narrowed, a peculiar expression.

“And of course, for that favour I become indebted to you.”

Harry shook his head. “You’ve supported me and shown faith by joining Blackleprickle. Let’s call it even.”

Her expression in response held genuine warmth.

“Thank you.”


	14. The Spider's Web

The architect was drawn quickly back into conversation with the three of them, and the school house elves proved happy to serve them meals in their new common room. Slughorn joined them for lunch, waddling into the room dressed in emerald green potions master’s robes. Sat around a conjured table and helping themselves to food, they watched as Slughorn glanced over the plans.

“How long will it take?”

Harry grinned at him.

“All done by Monday.”

Slughorn nodded approvingly.

“I won’t insult you by doubting, m’boy.” He said jovially. “And, of course, I want the three of you nicely settled in by the time classes begin.”

He reached into one of the voluminous pockets of his robe to draw out a few leaves of parchment. A flick of his wand sent them flying, one coming to lie in front of each of his students.

“Your timetables.” He said. “I had yours done first. All of your classes should be with the best teachers who tutor fourth years.”

They smiled at him; the man might have vices, but he knew his business as a head of house.

“I’ll be running my usual supper club again this year.” He continued. “Miss Greengrass, Mr Shafiq, you are both, of course, invited as usual. Harry, I expect to see you there too.” He said, waggling a chubby finger with mock severity.

“I wouldn’t miss it.” Harry assured him.

“A fortnight tomorrow, then.” He declared, before frowning slightly. “I don’t think I can be moved into my new quarters in less time than that, but never mind. Anyhow, I’m sure we can consider inviting some of the attendees to join our house.” He finished cheerfully.

Harry grinned internally. Slughorn was, as he had suspected, clearly having a whale of a time. He’d been Head of Potions for nearly fifty years, but had supposedly coveted the idea of running Slytherin House for even longer. The opportunity to run a brand new house of hand-picked members was plainly a deeply exciting prospect to him. A Slug Club that was far more than a monthly supper and a few boxes of candied pineapple.

“An excellent idea, professor, and I’m honoured to see that you’ll be taking our potions classes.” Liram commented.

“Wouldn’t trust it to anyone else.” Slughorn said. “Dumbledore doesn’t let me teach anyone under fourth year.”

“I’m sure your talents would be wasted on such young students.” Daphne said smoothly, both complimenting Slughorn and clearly demonstrating her loyalties shifting away from Professor Snape, who took most of the younger Slytherin classes.

Slughorn beamed at her. “You flatter me. I fear you are mistaken, however, as Severus has nothing but good to say of your abilities in his classes.”

The builders and decorators arrived after lunch, so Harry vanished the conjured furniture. They levitated their luggage up to one of the floors that would remain unused for the time being.

“How about going flying?” Liram suggested.

* * *

Twenty minutes later they were changed and walking through the castle in the direction of the Quidditch pitches, attracting a significant amount of curious attention in the corridors as they did so.

“Were you on your house team, Daphne?” Harry asked as they reached the entrance hall.

“Reserve Slytherin chaser last year. I might have made it onto the team this year, but with Flint still going for brawn over brains it was probably unlikely.”

“It’s not like it actually matters, anyway,” Liram sympathised, “what with the Quidditch Cup cancelled.”

“I suppose not.”

Harry grinned at her. “Well, I don’t think there’s much competition for a spot on the Blackleprickle team at this point.”

She smiled back.

“I suppose you’re right.”

They reached one of the unoccupied practice fields and did a few stretches before kicking off from the ground.

For Harry, riding his Firebolt for the first time was an almost euphoric experience. Using one of Viktor’s brooms in Bulgaria had been amazing, but the Firebolt was in a different fucking league. The ground simply fell away in a blur, only to come back into focus moments later, much smaller.

A laughing Liram and grinning Daphne caught up with him a few seconds later.

“How about a seeker competition?” Liram asked.

“Sure.” Daphne agreed. “Who wants to get the key to one of the ball chests from Hooch?”

Harry flicked his wand from the sleeve of his training jacket. “No need.”

A few seconds muttering and a snitch appeared, held between the thumb and forefinger of his left hand, wings fluttering madly.

“No fucking way.” Liram said.

Harry grinned.

“All moving parts. Fully tournament programmed. Conjured from nothing.” He frowned slightly. “It will probably only last about an hour though, I didn’t really focus enough for longer than that.” With that he put his wand away, dropped the snitch into his right hand and threw it away from him with all the force he could muster.

“On five.”

They counted up together before all diving off in different directions.

Three hours later they landed together on the edge of the pitch. Behind the ice mask Daphne looked exhausted. Liram was a little sweaty.

“Another few rounds, anyone?” A grinning Harry asked.

“Maybe another day.” Liram said diplomatically.

“What was the final tally?” Daphne asked.

“You, four, me, seven, Harry, eight.” Liram told her.

“Fuck, you nearly caught up.” Harry exclaimed.

“Yeah, next time.” Liram replied, grinning.

“Sure. I think I’d prefer to play chaser, anyway.”

Daphne smirked at Liram. “You might get to keep that seeker spot next year, after all.”

He rolled his eyes at her. “We’ll have to use the changing-room showers.” He noted, leading them off in that direction.

Harry nodded.

“I think the idea is to have the plumbing finished by tomorrow evening, but I doubt the bathrooms will be properly done until Sunday.”

“How did you manage to persuade me to live on a building site?” Daphne asked, with somewhat ludicrous primness when she was soaked with sweat and had mud plastered up to her knees.

Harry raised an eyebrow at her. “Do they have hot tubs in the Slytherin dorms?”

“Fair point.” She acknowledged grudgingly.

Harry was both disappointed and relieved to find that the showers were individual stalls rather than communal. The three of them called their own family house elves to bring them soap and changes of clothes, getting them to return the brooms to their luggage and take their Quidditch gear away to be washed.

They changed and went straight through to the Great Hall for dinner.

The three of them sitting in solitary splendour in the centre of the hall drew marginally less attention than it had the previous night, although the whispers were still rampant. They were approached, before any of the teachers had arrived, by a boy Harry recognised as the Malfoy heir from the World Cup.

He was flanked by a couple of boulder-like boys, of a bulk that no self-respecting pureblood supremacist mother would have let her children reach.

The blond’s eyes flickered over Harry and Liram before settling on Daphne.

“Greengrass.” He began coolly.

“Malfoy.” Came the ice-smiled response.

“Why are you sitting here?”

“Oh,” she said breezily, “I’ve transferred houses.”

The pale grey eyes narrowed.

“You’ve left Slytherin?”

“I have.”

“This does rather to bring into question the marriage contract our fathers have been discussing.” Malfoy said coldly.

She smiled brilliantly at him.

“Excellent. If your father steps back then mine doesn’t have to strain too hard for an excuse to break off negotiations.”

He flushed faintly and glared at her.

“Anyway,” she continued. “I think it unnecessary to discuss such matters in public.”

The flush deepened further. Malfoy looked about to speak, before taking in Liram and Harry’s expressions. He left, too stiff-legged for an entirely dignified exit.

Harry looked at Daphne with a smile.

“You’re committed to us now, you realise?”

“Of course.” She responded calmly as the first teachers began to trickle into the hall.

They returned to Blackleprickle Tower after dinner to find an impressive amount of progress. The common room, requiring no plumbing or painting, was nearly complete.

The tall, arched windows were now flanked by heavy cream curtains. A large, previously nonexistent fireplace stood opposite the entrance, surrounded by comfortable furniture and a thick carpet, also in cream, covered the floor. Empty bookshelves filled the walls in the gaps between the windows. Further groups of settees and armchairs scattered the centre of the room, and smaller study desks were dotted around the edge.

“They’ve been efficient.” Daphne commented with an arched eyebrow.

“They’ve just finished doing some work for me in London.” Harry told her. “So they were available at short notice.”

* * *

“Welcome to OWLs.”

Nobody seemed to find Professor McGonagall’s words as terrifying as she’d probably wanted them to be. But then, this was a class of Ravenclaws to which the three Blackleprickle students had been added. That it was half past eight on a Monday morning meant also that her students’ sleepiness was working against her.

“I am delighted to see that you have all brought your textbooks. I can only hope to be suitably impressed by your all having done the requested reading.”

Harry raised a hand.

“Yes, Mr Potter-Black?”

“Professor, can I ask why this is the set text?”

“I fail to understand the question.”

“As I understand it, very little of the current Transfiguration OWL is covered by the book.”

Her natural frown deepened.

“Rest assured, Mr Potter-Black, you will have been taught all of the required material by the time your exams roll round.”

“I’m sure that’s true, professor. I just wanted to express certain doubts that the set text is even remotely suited to helping us.”

“The headmaster authored the text, Mr Potter-Black.” McGonagall stated with icy conviction, as though this apparent oversight on his part would cure his confusion.

“We all have our weak moments.” Harry noted blandly. “The problem I have is that only one of the eighteen chapters bears any relevance to the material we are due to cover.”

McGonagall flushed slightly.

“I’m sure the headmaster will take your criticism on board, Mr Potter-Black, but in the meantime I will attempt to reassure you with the knowledge that I have never had a student fail and do not intent to start now.”

Harry decided to stop there: McGonagall could be a valuable ally, and he could already see half of his classmates eyeing their own custard-coloured textbooks dubiously.

The professor began what turned out to be a surprisingly interesting lecture on the intricacies of turning hamsters into frogs. The goal was, apparently, to have a class sufficiently adept that by the end of the first half-term they would be attempting the transfiguration on living examples, with the goal to keep them that way throughout.

Harry hoped that the fact the textbook was referred to not at all for the entirety of the two hours was telling his fellow students something.

* * *

Professor Flitwick released an actual squeak when he read Harry’s name off his register. Even this source of merriment, however, was topped when he summoned the prescribed cushion with nothing more than a short hand gesture. Flitwick’s stack of books, which an amused Liram assured him became more teetering by the year, collapsed dramatically under the weight of the excitedly shifting professor.

“Well done, Mr Potter-Black!” Flitwick exclaimed, apparently none the worse for wear as he rose from the debris. A deft flick of his own wand had the scattered volumes gathered and neatly restacked on his chair, a seemingly innocuous charm that belied the incredible difficulty of wordlessly moving several objects relative to one another with such precise control and no eye contact.

The end of the lesson had Liram and Daphne summoning their own cushions with wand, but no incantation, and most of the class, again Ravenclaws, also managing the charm, if less comfortably.

* * *

Lunch was excellent, Muggle Studies farcical.

“This is a plug.” An excited but otherwise ordinary man declared. “The source of most muggle power.”

Harry snorted with laughter. The fourteen conscientiously scribbling purebloods around him aimed a few confused looks his way.

“Mr Potter-Black?” Professor Stokes asked. “Is there a problem?”

“None at all, professor, I apologise for disrupting your lesson.”

He was rewarded with a faintly suspicious look, and subsequently ignored. He managed to conceal his amusement, barely, for the remainder of the lesson.

He was back with his housemates for Arithmancy later that afternoon, although this time they were in a class with the Slytherins. Harry spent too much of the lesson trying to analyse Liram’s reactions to the undeniably attractive Professor Vector to pay much attention to the actual contents of her lecture. Luckily, the work itself was easy enough without the explanation. He both laughed and cringed internally when most of his male classmates glared at him for receiving the only smile of the lesson from the teacher.

* * *

Professor Slughorn was indisposed, apparently, and so Harry’s first Potions class of the year was being taken by a Professor Snape, who, incredibly, appeared not to like him for some reason.

“Ah, Mr Potter-Black, our new celebrity.” The bat-like man said silkily, reaching his name on the register.

Harry couldn’t resist.

“Ah, Professor Snape.” He returned. “My new fan. I’m flattered, of course, but if you want me to sign your breasts can it wait until after the lesson?”

The whole class was silent for one incredulous moment.

Liram, sitting next to him, was the first to respond, dropping his face into his arms on the desk in front of him to conceal his laugh.

Snape wasn’t far behind, although his response was to sweep forwards, points of furious colour burning on his sallow cheeks.

“Insolent boy.” He snapped, spitting slightly in his temper. “Two weeks of detention and thirty points from Blackleprickle.”

Harry winked at him. “That sounds like an excellent cover story for our time alone, well played, professor.”

Snape practically hissed with fury, but was apparently sufficiently put off his stride by the fact that the entire class, primarily Slytherins, was laughing at him, to turn around and return to the front of the room, robes billowing.

“Page eighteen.” He rapped out, stabbing his wand at the blackboard to fill it with neat columns of writing and a number of diagrams.

The class was quelled and the sound of turning pages took the place of the snickers.

Harry was surprised when Snape refrained from any further comment for the duration for the lesson, merely sneering viciously when presented with a flawless Wit-Sharpening Potion.

* * *

The second Saturday after term began saw thirty-something students gathered around a large circular table in a recovered Professor Slughorn’s splendidly comfortable new chambers.

“Welcome!” The professor beamed pudgily in greeting.

Nine heirs to the Twenty, fourteen to the general nobility, and six to the vastly wealthy nodded back at him. The three students his head of house had deemed sufficiently brilliant to attend on their own merits alone, however, were those of most interest to Harry.

Well, they would ordinarily have been.

Harry had the place of honour, seated directly to Professor Slughorn’s right, next to Daphne, with Liram beside her. To the professor’s left, however, was what had distracted him from the trio of uninfluential geniuses grouped a few seats further round.

The boy was probably sixteen, perhaps seventeen.

He was also perfect.

Golden hair and tanned skin, jutting cheekbones and clear grey eyes.

It didn’t exactly help that he kept glancing back at Harry.

* * *

The boy had arrived a few minutes late, dropping into the seat beside Slughorn with a muttered apology just before the man rose to greet them.

Before Harry found a suitable opportunity to ask Daphne about his identity, however, Slughorn remembered his duties as host.

“Harry m’boy.” He boomed, chair creaking ominously as his bulk turned.

Harry raised an enquiring eyebrow as the golden-haired youth and the female sitting next to him, whom Harry found himself wanting to strangle, also turned in his direction.

“Might I introduce you to the most promising student Hogwarts has had in a generation? Lord Potter-Black, Cedric Diggory, Son and Heir to Lord Diggory.”

The two of them each flashed a grin at the other in response to Slughorn’s expectant look. The eye-contact held for what was perhaps an inappropriate length of time, but, absentmindedly taking in teeth as brilliantly flawless as the rest of the boy, Harry couldn’t really bring himself to care.

“I met your father, I believe.” He noted, grasping for the first topic of conversation to present itself to him.

A faint suggestion of startlement, followed by a grimace so subtle it might have been a flicker of candlelight, was the immediate response.

“He mentioned it. I believe he was planning to introduce us, but was distracted by something or other.”

Harry said the first flippant thing that came into his head.

“I find it difficult to believe he could have been distracted from me.” He noted lightheartedly.

Luckily Daphne backed him up, even as Harry watched the Diggory heir swallow mesmerically.

“We’re going to have to work on your modesty.”

Harry, again acting on instinct, flashed her a roguish grin.

“If that entails spending more time with your ladyship, then how could I refuse?”

The Diggory heir’s eyes narrowed in faint consternation, something Harry’s subconscious seized on like he was drowning.

Slughorn’s booming laughter followed his statement.

“Smooth, m’boy.” He got out eventually, patting Harry’s shoulder complacently.

“Cedric, you’ll be entering the tournament?” He asked, shifting his attention.

The subject of his question dragged his eyes away from Harry to smile wryly at the professor.

“The parental permission slip from my father arrived the morning after the welcoming feast. Truth be told, I hadn’t made up my mind, and certainly hadn’t contacted him.”

Slughorn chuckled.

“That’s the Amos I remember. Impulsive to a fault.”

“Are you to be involved in arrangements for the tournament in any way, professor?” Diggory inquired, smoothly steering the conversation away from his father.

“Not to my knowledge.” Slughorn replied cheerfully. “Albus told me all about it, of course, but most of the arrangements are being handled by our own Department of International Magical Cooperation, alongside their counterparts in the Ministries of those countries with schools taking part.”

“To try and stop cheating?” The Chinese girl next to Diggory, who was certainly nothing more than mildly pretty, asked.

Slughorn roared with laughter.

“Nothing will prevent cheating, my dear Miss Chang. Whilst I have every faith in the honourable nature of our own Ministry, I fear those in Asia and Eastern Europe will think of little more than winning.”

“You mean their governments will help their champions cheat?” She practically gasped.

Slughorn nodded sombrely, before smiling.

“I have trust in our Hogwarts champions, whomever they may be, to overcome all of these obstacles, however.” He looked around the table. “I believe that a number of you will be entering yourselves for consideration?” He asked, raising his voice slightly.

Perhaps ten heads nodded, a few going so far as to murmur their agreement.

“How are the champions selected, Professor?” One heavyset dark-haired boy asked.

“Now, now, Amarau,” Slughorn said, waggling a playful finger in his direction, “you know I can’t tell you that.” He leant back in his chair, which squeaked faintly in protest. “Incidentally, many of the customs of a competition as old as this tournament would likely be very well established, and might even have been recorded somewhere. Perhaps an oblique line of research would yield the best results, a general history of one of the longstanding competing schools, even.”

He grinned round at his now rapt audience.

“But really, surely you knew not to ask?” He asked playfully.

The professor proved to be an excellent host, and clearly enjoyed his time holding court.

* * *

The weeks rolled past quickly, half term a brief reprieve in what was otherwise a comparatively intense educational process. Harry had no trouble, of course, but he did wonder how on earth people like Crabbe and Goyle, as Malfoy’s henchmen turned out to be called, managed to keep pace. Even taking ‘soft’ subject options, and the minimum number of OWLs, would seem to be stretching their intellectual capabilities and apparent work ethic a touch too far.

Lessons began at half past eight every weekday morning. Two sessions of two hours each were taught before lunch, followed by another two after lunch. The day, with two half hour breaks and a full hour for lunch, finished at half six. Harry attended his classes religiously, but spent most of his time in them sat at the back, engaged in his own private studies.

* * *

All students were given the afternoon of classes off on the Monday after half term to welcome the arriving schools.

Dumbledore had, in his imagination, dressed for the occasion. His robes gleamed in the dull winter sunshine, silk emblazoned with a hundred Hogwarts crests. Snakes slithered up and down his sleeves, embroidered lions roared from his shoulders, eagles flapped around his torso, and badgers gambolled merrily on his lower half.

The heads of house were all looking horrified, though Harry was just grateful he hadn’t yet chosen an emblem for Blackleprickle. Their contemplation of the Headmaster’s attire was, however, cut off as the first carriages became visible wending their way up the path from Hogsmeade.

Harry, standing, as ever, with his two friends, thought that the skeletal thestrals drawing them looked weirdly out of place in the middle of the day. The first carriages drew up in front of the steps the students were gathered around, and an efficient-looking middle-aged man with greying hair stepped out. He was smartly dressed in navy blue robes, and followed by a dozen students similarly attired, but wearing casual clothing under their own outer robes.

“Hogwarts. Please welcome Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry!” Dumbledore announced cheerfully, as he stepped forwards to clasp the middle aged man’s hand.

Hogwarts clapped politely in greeting as the group was guided off to their prepared accommodations.

The next half hour saw another seven institutions arrive: Castelobruxo from Brazil, Mahoutokoro from Japan, which sent only two gold-robed students alongside a teacher who looked to rival Dumbledore in ancientness. Ilvermorny, based in Boston, was joined by their West coast counterpart; Maston Academy, from near San Francisco.

Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, being the two schools in nearest geographical proximity, arrived, respectively, in a flying carriage and a floating boat. Half of the watching students were impressed, whilst the remainder seemed to be branding them show-offs.

Xi-Xo-An, from China, Uagadou, of Uganda, Abasodro Demigi, Peru, Casa Raffaello, Italy, and Koldovstoretz, Russia, brought the total to twelve. The Russian students, for some reason still swathed in the furs that would fend off the biting Siberian climate, looked viciously intimidating with their bulky forms, hard eyes and stormy expressions.

* * *

Dumbledore was beaming again. Still clad in his robes from earlier, he glowed merrily in the light of ten thousand candles. The foreign students, two hundred or so in total, sat around their own tables in the Great Hall. Apparently no one was willing to push the international magical friendship agenda too far too quickly. Given the savagely competitive nature of the tournament, Harry supposed that it was quite likely very little would be achieved on that front.

“It makes an old man’s heart glad to see so many of our magical brethren join us this evening.” Dumbledore began happily. “I hope that this year many valuable and long-lasting friendships can form, helping to pave a future of greater cooperation and integration.”

Well, Harry mused, he’s getting plenty of Crouch Sr’s keywords in, even if what he’s saying is completely nonsensical.

The students clapped politely, albeit with a few eye rolls.

“I know you are all impatient to learn more about the selection process.” He continued. “And I would not want to ruin your enjoyment of the feast by making you wait.” He moved around from his seat as he spoke to stand in front of the head table.

A flick of his wand summoned an object. It looked rather like a six-tiered wedding cake made of carved wood panels. A tap of his wand and the top two tiers slid down to reveal a large cup, made of the same dark wood. Brilliant blue flames flickered into life in the goblet.

“You write your name, as well as your school, on a slip of paper and drop it into the goblet. I will be placing it in the entrance hall after the feast tonight, and you will have under the start of tomorrow’s meal to enter yourselves. I will be drawing an Age Line around the goblet to prevent those not of age from entering themselves. Should you be in possession of a parental permission slip, present it and yourself to your head of house, who will escort you across the line.

With that all covered, let us feast!” He exclaimed, summoning food to the tables.

“Well, that was surprisingly quick.” Liram commented as he helped himself to some sort of baked ham.

“I suspect Crouch Sr briefed him in advance,” Daphne commented, “although I am a little surprised Dumbledore actually listened.”

“It’s a shame none of us could enter.” Liram said. “Although, I don’t think I’d fancy facing any of the Russians.”

Daphne nodded.

“They do look like serial killers,” she agreed.

* * *

Dumbledore stood again, looking out over a sea of nervous, excited, impassive, and mildly curious faces.

“The time has come…”

“…the Walrus said…” Harry continued under his breath.

The Goblet was summoned, and Dumbledore duly tapped his wand against it, apparently asking it to make a decision.

The Goblet’s flames flashed red with each name as it steadily disgorged its contents.

Hogwarts clapped the selected students politely as they stood and went through the indicated doorway to the left of the head table. The students not chosen, Harry noted, were either wildly supportive, patently disappointed, or, in the case of the Durmstrang and the Russians, completely stoic.

“Cedric Diggory!” Dumbledore announced delightedly.

The Hufflepuff tables roared out their support as their idol stood and followed the others.

An expectant pause fell for a moment before another rectangle of parchment fluttered out of the flames to be snatched by wizened fingers.

“Harry Potter!” Dumbledore called. He beamed around at his nonplussed audience.

Harry raised an eyebrow at the headmaster before rising to his feet. He glanced briefly at his friends, who looked back with frowns. He spread his hands in front of him in a brief gesture to convey his own confusion without letting the rest of the hall see.

Settling a pureblood mask into place, Harry strode up towards Dumbledore. A fair few students were clapping amidst the confusion now, seemingly satisfied by the headmaster’s own apparent contentment.

The assembled head teachers eyed him with a mixture of frowns and cutting appraisal.

“I’m honoured, professor.” Harry told the headmaster, deciding the words sufficiently ambiguous to adequately cover most of the multitude of flashing possibilities in his head. Then he decided that he couldn’t resist.

“For next time, though, it’s Potter-Black.”  
He turned and swept through to the antechamber where twenty three other champions were waiting.

He quirked a smile at a faintly confused looking Cedric, before joining him to lean against the opposite side of the mantle around the blazing hearth.

“You’re the other champion?” Cedric questioned.

Harry shrugged noncommittally.

“Apparently.”

Some of the other champions were eyeing him with recognition, but before anyone could speak the door burst open and a gaggle of head teachers came in, chattering amongst themselves.

“Harry.” Dumbledore addressed him with an indulgent firmness.

Harry raised a cool eyebrow at the man.

“Professor. Are you able to enlighten me?”

“Did you put your name in the Goblet of Fire?”

The eyebrow stretched a little higher.

“I would have thought the implication of my previous question made it patently obvious that I did not.” He replied in a voice biting enough to make Professor Snape proud.

“An unwilling, underage champion, Dumbledore?” The maniacally bearded Karkaroff interjected nastily.

“I’m sure Harry here is perfectly willing to take part.” Dumbledore said with cheerful obliviousness. “He’s emancipated anyway.”

“I fear I had not realised to what extent I would be taking my life into my own hands with my emancipation.” Harry noted drily. “Would it not be wiser to persuade the Goblet to select an alternative second champion for Hogwarts, Professor, I am, after all, a mere fourteen years old, and relatively new to the school?”

Dumbledore merely beamed on.

“Nonsense, my boy. From your professors’ feedback I find it difficult to imagine a worthier champion. Besides, your age merely makes the achievement all the more extraordinary.”

“I’m sure. Even if I had help.”

“Exactly!” Dumbledore exclaimed, before turning away from a conversation that had become increasingly bewildering to congratulate Cedric Diggory effusively.

* * *

“Champions, gather round.” Lord Crouch’s command was peremptory.

“The First Task will take place in a month’s time on the thirtieth of November. Its objective, from the point of view of the tournament, is to halve your numbers. Twelve champions will make it through to the next task. Survival of the fittest. That is all you are to know.”

A couple of the less stoic champions muttered complaints about the lack of information.

Harry turned to face his fellow champion, finding himself admiring the play of warm candlelight along cheekbones and pooling in dark eyes.

“Cedric, can we talk?” He asked.

Diggory looked momentarily startled, but drew himself together quickly.

“Of course, Harry.” He replied, a barely noticeable pause on the name.

Harry flashed a grin at him before pushing himself away from the mantelpiece and leading his companion through the crowd. They were silent as they walked through the now empty Great Hall.

“So,” Cedric began as they crossed the entrance hall, “who do you think did put your name in the Goblet?”

Harry glanced at him. “I’m flattered by your trust. I suspect a considerable number of our schoolmates will not have such faith in my word.”

Cedric chuckled softly. “Then they’re not worth bothering about.”

“Of course not. And it was probably Dumbledore.”

“Dumbledore?” Cedric asked with a certain curiosity.

“He drew the Age Line. He’s too clever to leave a flaw in the system, as I believe Mr Flint found out when he attempted to submit Mr Malfoy’s name. That my name came out of the Goblet, or that he announced my name regardless of what was written on the parchment, is more than indicative of at least a certain complicity.”

Cedric raised an eyebrow. “But why would he?”

Harry shrugged as they reached the entrance of the corridor to Blackleprickle Tower. “Any number of reasons. Because he’s insane. Because he’s curious about me and wants to see the abilities of the toddler who defeated the Dark Lord. Because he thinks he can offer me hints in the tasks and my gratitude indebts me to him. Because he’s really a blood supremacist who didn’t want to risk a muggleborn becoming champion. Because the old guard in the Wizengamot will want both slots to be occupied by candidates they regard as suitable representatives of British Wizarding society, that is to say, aristocrats. Because he’s read too many fairy stories and thinks the meddling old wizard sends the hero on his quest. Because he truly has faith in my abilities and thinks me the best chance Hogwarts has at winning, so he has to see my name come out regardless of the limitations he was instrumental in having imposed.”

He paused.

“But those are just my initial thoughts, it could be all of those or none of those; he may not even be in the slightest bit responsible.”

“But you don’t think so?”

“When the headmaster of the relevant school is the only one with the power to remove a champion whose name has been drawn from the competition? Dumbledore is either directly involved, or willing to risk my life to see what develops.”

Cedric didn’t answer, and watched silently as Harry pressed his hand flat against the ironbound door to Blackleprickle Tower, which clicked open as it recognised him. Harry beckoned Cedric through after him.

Cedric whistled.

“Impressive. I must be one of the first students not in your house to get to visit?” He asked.

Harry shrugged, making his way over to a sofa near the hearth and dropping himself down, drawing his legs up after him.

“Daphne’s sister has been a couple of times. I think she’s lusting after Liram though, so when she’s not emulating her sister’s pureblood princess act she’s hiding up in her rooms."

Cedric laughed softly, and came to sit opposite, mirroring his position.

“So,” he began, “can I ask why you wanted me to join you?” He smiled faintly before amending “Not that you need a reason, of course.”

Harry grinned back.

“Of course not.” He agreed. “I wanted to talk to you away from the other champions so that we can discuss pairing up, for the First Task, at least.”

Cedric raised an eyebrow.

“But we don’t know what the First Task is. The information we’ve been given doesn’t even preclude us from being matched against one another.” He pointed out.

“A remote possibility, I think,” Harry answered. “Only practicable if we’re all to be paired against one another by a random draw; halving each schools champion count would probably be a diplomatic solution, but hardly satisfactory on any other level.”

“We could be doing individual tasks?”

“With twenty four of us?” Harry challenged calmly. “Possible, but it’s supposed to be a spectator thing; maybe a couple of hours for each task. It’s hardly practical to give twenty four of us individual challenges.”

Cedric nodded.

“Is it fair to team up?”

Harry snorted faintly with laughter.

“You’re so Hufflepuff it hurts.”

Cedric looked mildly offended, but smiled slightly as Harry continued.

“And bearing that in mind, what I’m about to suggest will likely sound like sacrilege.”

Cedric, now looking amused, raised an interested eyebrow.

“We find out what the First Task is, and cheat.”

Cedric managed to remain impassive.

“And how do you suggest we cheat?”

“Well, I already suspect that the format will be some sort of free for all. As soon as we’re down to twelve, everything stops; letting it continue would put a champion out in front much too early.”

Cedric quirked an eyebrow at him.

“And you think teaming up with me would be worth the additional baggage of my presence reducing the slots available to you down to eleven?”

“You make me sound so mercenary.” A grinning Harry replied.

Cedric was smiling openly.

“This is the most mercenary conversation I’ve ever had.”

“Then you must not have hired many assassins.”

Cedric laughed.

“No comment.”

“We have an agreement?”

Cedric nodded briefly, eyes playing over Harry’s face.

“We do.”

“Then I suggest we meet up again in a few days and share what we’ve found out.”

Cedric smirked faintly.

“Testing your new ally?”

“You think me that calculating?”

Cedric’s expression became serious, eyes narrowing slightly.

“Even more so.”

Harry grinned again.

“Then I can’t see either of us worrying much about fighting for that twelfth spot.”

“New friend, Harry?”

“Liram! Come join the new school champions.”

His friend came over and sat down on the third sofa surrounding the fireplace.

“Well, congratulations, I suppose, to the pair of you.”

“Thanks,” Harry said drily.


	15. You Want to Weigh My Wand?

“That fucker!”

“I’m so glad there aren’t any impressionable children about.” Harry told his still growling godfather mildly.

“Fuck the children!”

“That’s probably Azkaban.”

“Very funny. Who entered you?”

“I’m sorry?”

Sirius flushed slightly, but waited for Harry to answer.

“Dumbledore.”

“That fucker!”

“I’d hate for you to lose your reputation for originality.”

“What reputation would that be?”

Dorea joined Sirius in the mirror’s frame.

“Granny! You always come in at the best times. One might almost think you were listening at doors.”

She gestured dismissively.

“But that would be gauche. Even the suggestion.”

“A crime I cannot imagine you committing.” He told her with grin.

“Of course not. You can’t escape, I take it?”

“The contract seems pretty unambiguous. And with the magic behind the tournament being more than a thousand years old, I don’t really want to have to fight against it.”

“So, you’ll be wanting information about the First Task?”

“Whatever you can give me.”

“You flatter me. Anyway, you’ll have what I can find. You know half a dozen Chinese wizards attempted to raid Crouch’s offices here in London a couple of hours ago?”

“I hadn’t heard. Did they get anything?”

“I doubt it. But it depends how much he wanted them to get their hands on. Cheating is such a traditional part of the tournament that I wouldn’t put it past the organisers helping to facilitate it this time round just to help prevent collateral damage.”

“You shouldn’t encounter any difficulties then?”

“Certainly not with the stuff that might as well be in the public domain. The rest, well I doubt that will be a problem either.”

* * *

Harry was drawn from his thoughts by a soft knock. A glance towards the entrance and a twist of his will had the ironbound door swinging open.

“Come in.” He called calmly, trying to slow the unconscious quickening of his pulse.

Cedric came in smiling and sat himself down.

“A drink?”

The other boy nodded, raising an eyebrow when he was presented with a glass of wine.

“Dare I ask whether Dumbledore knows you have alcohol up here?”

Harry shrugged.

“What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him. The Gryffindors were stockpiling firewhiskey.” He paused. Cedric took the bait.

“Were?”

“Well. As I understand it they were anticipating some Quidditch victories this year.”

Cedric smirked slightly.

“Oh dear. They’ll have to drown their sorrows instead.”

He took a sip, and looked slightly surprised.

“This is excellent.”

Harry laughed.

“I should be offended, you know, but instead I can only pity that you would ever be foolish enough to question my taste.”

Cedric grinned.

“I would, of course, never do such a thing. I fear you misread my expression. It was merely the sudden shock of realising that the Quidditch victories the Gryffindors were hoping to celebrate might become instead their drinking to honour the tournament success of their chief rival’s seeker.”

“Then your expression was more than justified.”

“I thought so, too.”

Cedric sat and sipped contemplatively for a minute. Eventually he reached into his robes and drew out a sheaf of folded parchments, which he proceeded to slide across the low table between them.

Harry glanced at the parchment’s watermark before drawing an identical packet out and sliding it across to Cedric.

Cedric smiled.

“I think that allays any concerns I might have had.”

Harry inclined his head slightly.

“Not that I had any doubts about you. A larger concern was instead the faint question over the structure of the task permitting us to team up.”

“One I think now assuaged.”

“Indeed. So, partner,” Harry said, taking some peculiar satisfaction in the word, “let us plan.”

* * *

“Harry.”

He turned in the corridor to find Draco Malfoy, having just followed him out of potions, staring at him.

“Draco.” He greeted the boy warmly. “What can I do for you?”

He indicated Liram and Daphne, who were both eyeing the other boy with hard expressions, to go on without him.

They didn’t move.

“No, they can stay.” Draco said quickly. “Your question should be the other way around.” He continued, thrusting some paper towards him, Ministry watermark readily apparent.

“Thank you, Draco, I’m glad to see the Malfoy family rates me so highly.”

Draco looked pleased, but frowned slightly as he realised the documents had been recognised.

“Although, perhaps, my gratitude might have been expected tenfold, had I had no clue, skill, or qualms about cheating. Oh, what implication from underestimation.”

A few seconds of processing followed before the pale cheeks flushed slightly.

“Nevertheless, I have made a move.” Was the eventual response.

“One I will, as a favour, take in good faith.”

Draco nodded stiffly and walked away.

* * *

“Interesting exchange.” Daphne commented as they walked away.

“Yes.” Agreed Liram.

“Care to share, Harry?”

He smirked at her.

“How about you return the favour?”

She caught on quickly enough.

“He gave you information about the First Task.” She stated promptly. Harry managed to catch only the faintest note of question.

“He did,” he agreed. “Lord Malfoy appears to be less far behind your father than perhaps he was hoping.”

“Indeed.” She mused. “He kept Liram and me there so we could see the Malfoys doing you a massive favour.”

“Which I think I devalued, and then called into question.”

“You did.” She stopped. “You could perhaps have pressed harder, turned the information and used it as leverage?”

He shrugged.

“I could have tried, but Lucius Malfoy is far too good to let anything like that stick. He tries to ingratiate himself with me, and it’s the perceived risk factor that heightens the value of the gift. Of course, it doesn’t, because should I try to report it my own credibility would be damaged just as much as his. Everyone would know I had foreknowledge of the First Task, which, irrespective of any collateral damage done to Lord Malfoy, would likely harm me more.”

“But you took the information?”

“I didn’t want to cause offence. I suspect my clear recognition of the document will be enough to convince Lucius it was genuinely valueless to me, which gives him no owed favour to press. On the other hand, that I didn’t act outraged and throw it all instantly back into Draco’s face suggests that I might be receptive to future overtures.

The embarrassing Draco bit was merely to persuade him to be more diplomatic in future. He was overconfident; convinced that the Malfoy favour would put pressure on the pair of you. If he was thinking a little further he could also have wanted it to be a warning to your fathers: his father can produce what neither of yours can.”

Daphne sniffed.

“Some of our fathers have more honour.”

Liram grinned at her.

“And some have more faith in our champion here.”

“That I have the skills without the information, or that I genuinely already had it?” Harry asked, amused.

“I could flatter you by going with the first. But I really meant the second.”

“Well done.”

“I was right?”

“It wasn’t even twenty four hours after my name came out of the goblet that I had the information Draco gave me. Within forty eight I knew more than I suspect any other champion does even now, with a week to go.”

Liram grinned at him, before looking thoughtful.

“You think Lord Malfoy left it so late to put pressure on you, and to make you more grateful to him for coming to the rescue?”

“Well, either that, or it took him three weeks to get his own hands on it.”

“If that’s even a possibility, it makes me wonder how the other champions know anything, and how you got your information so quickly.”

“Is that a question, Daphne?”

“Perhaps.”

“Lord Crouch doesn’t like Lord Malfoy. It would make sense that he would do everything in his power to keep the information out of his hands. This tournament is, after all, the coup on whose success any resurgent political ambitions of Lord Crouch’s rest.”

Liram raised an arch eyebrow.

“Indeed, the problem is that he hasn’t yet realised that no one actually likes him.”

Daphne smirked.

“I’m told by father that his pet Weasley is quite attentive.”

“It’s power that particular Weasley lusts after, not toothbrush moustaches.” Liram noted.

* * *

“The weighing of the wands?” Daphne asked a worryingly excited small child.

The boy nodded eagerly.

“Mr Ollivander’s here!” He exclaimed excitedly. “And some reporters!”

“So that’s what this is all about.” Daphne mused. “Getting you all introduced to the public before the tournament begins, build up the excitement.”

Harry rose from his lunch.

“Well, I suppose I’d better go then. I’ll see you two sometime this afternoon.”

They nodded him off as he was dragged away by the first year, who had finally squeakily identified himself as Colin Creevey. Harry was relieved to escape the chatter when they eventually reached a large and unused classroom on the first floor.

He entered to find most of the champions already assembled, along with their head teachers.Ollivander was engaged in conversation with a faintly frowning Dumbledore, whilst a dozen reporters and accompanying photographers sat with eager expressions at the far end of the room.

“Vive mintz.”

Harry raised an eyebrow as he turned his head slightly to face the growl.

“Five minutes?” He inquired curiously of the mountainous Russian student, hoping he’d translated the thick burr correctly.

“Ow long you vill last in ze virst tazk.”

_“You must have considerable faith in my abilities if you expect me to last so long against yourself.”_ He replied mildly in Russian.

Dark brown eyes narrowed.

“ _You speak my language?”_

_“I do.”_ He paused. _“I think we could even become friends.”_ He grinned viciously. “ _Such a pity your arrogance will force me to tear you apart long before that ever happens.”_

The man actually stepped back at the sudden change, before rallying to glare and growl at him. Just as Harry was readying himself for an attack, a hand landed on his opponent’s fur-trimmed shoulder.

“Andrei.” A voice said sharply in only faintly accented English. “Calm yourself.”

The other champion from Koldovstoretz was as tall as his companion, pushing six and a half feet, but lean where the other was bulky. His own brown eyes were shrewd and cruel, tightly cropped beard shadowing an emaciated face that looked older than its eighteen years.

Andrei reluctantly allowed himself to be dragged away.

“’Arry.” Came an infinitely more pleasant and richly accented voice.

“Mademoiselle Delacour.” Harry greeted her, pressing his lips to her knuckles. “I am astonished to find you even more breathtaking than at our last meeting.”

She chuckled throatily.

“So you remember ‘eet?”

“Alas, all I remember of that evening is you.”

“My beauty?” She said, voice somewhere between warm and sharp.

“Not nearly so much as your wit and sophistication.”

He expression relaxed somewhat.

“You are vary diplomatic, Lord Potter-Black.”

“I do try. How is Gabrielle?”

The girl’s eyes seemed to soften against her will at the mention of her younger sister.

“She is well. She vill start at Beauxbatons next year.” She smiled. “You know, she could talk of little but you for a month after your meeting.”

“Only a month?”

Fleur laughed.

“She vas only nine.” She told him.

“And enchanting even then.”

“Champions!”

Fleur winced slightly at the boomed exclamation as they turned to face a beaming Ludo Bagman standing at the front of the room.

“Welcome to the Weighing of the Wands! If you’d all like to take a seat then I’ll explain the program of events for this afternoon.”

The champions sat in the centre of the room, the head teachers and several Ministry officials behind a large velvet clothed table facing them.

“Mr Ollivander will be examining each of your wands to ensure they are up to the trials ahead.” Bagman continued, feeding off of his own drama.

“Following the inspections, Miss Skeeter here,” he continued, indicating a square jawed and plastically platinum blonded woman in the centre of the press pack, “will be hosting a group interview for the Daily Prophet. Reporters from the countries you represent will also be able to ask questions, and you will be able to speak to your nation’s publication individually afterwards.”

He beamed at two dozen faces, of which perhaps a quarter were looking even remotely enthusiastic.

“So, without further ado, Mr Ollivander!”

The elderly gentleman stood stiffly from his seat off to one side.

“Ando, Haruka.” He said crisply, reading the name from a parchment list suspended steadily at his side.

One of the gold-robed Japanese competitors stood and presented Ollivander with a pale wand.

“Cherry wood.” The wandmaker murmured, turning it over in pale spindly fingers. “A material I use occasionally, but have never quite mastered as the craftsmen of your country. It is easy to see, however, why wielders of such wands are so well respected in Japan.”

Haruka stood impassively as Ollivander conducted his examinations, although he did smile faintly when the man conjured a fall of pale pink cherry blossom before handing the wand back.

The champions were proceeded through alphabetically, the reporters heard occasionally scribbling down notes at the back of the room. A few eyebrows were raised when the first Koldovstoretz student, the lean one, presented Ollivander with a heavy staff that was a good foot taller than the elderly wandmaker.

“Ah,” he exclaimed with great interest. “I see you school still keeps up its traditions,” he paused to examine the staff for a few moments. “My, my, most impressive. You killed it yourself, of course?”

“I did.” The boy said stoically. “Last year. The only ice bear taken during the entire season.”

Harry raised an eyebrow as he took in what he now realised must once have been part of the femur of one of the monstrous creatures that roamed the frozen magical wastes of Siberia.

Eventually Ollivander rapped the staff sharply against the floor, watching with apparent satisfaction as the impacted flagstone cracked before shattering as crisply as a smashed pane of glass.

The presented wands showed a staggering variety. Cedric’s ebony creation became the subject of considerable muttering from those assembled when Ollivander claimed to have made its core from the freely given heartstring of a unicorn.

Xi-Xo-An’s students wielded their magic through intricately decorated gloves. The students from Uagadou were similarly commented upon for not using anything at all in the place of wands, which, if one believed the muttering of the Italian student behind Harry, meant they were ‘fucked’.

Harry eyed Ollivander steadily as he approached and handed over his wand. He remained impassive as the man delighted in the opportunity to show off his brilliance. The illusory basilisk the wandmaker subsequently conjured was enough to make a Brazilian boy in the front row squeak with fright, and earn him a contemptuous glare from the girl next to him. Harry pretended not to notice Miss Skeeter eyeing him lustfully as he went to sit back down.

“Excellent.” Bagman declared eventually, bounding from his seat as soon as the last student had been ushered back to theirs.

“If you’d all like to turn your chairs round,” he continued, “then we can begin the group interview. Never fear, your head teachers are all willing to step in and address questions as well. Over to you, Miss Skeeter.”

She smiled a crocodile’s smile and snapped shut a handbag made from its skin.

“Thank you Ludo. Now, if I might just begin with a few general questions. Don’t worry, anyone can answer. Now, how did you feel when your name came out of the goblet?” She began.

The Italian student from earlier, now in front of Harry, was the first to answer.

“Satisfied.”

The reporter’s eyes sharpened.

“So you expected to be chosen?”

He nodded.

“Of course.”

The other student from Casa Rafaello snorted next to him, which the talkative one ignored.

“Was anyone surprised about being chosen?”

“Very.” A pretty Chilean girl answered immediately. “It’s an honour to be selected, and one I still cannot quite believe myself worthy of.”

Several champions were nodding along, apparently deciding the girl’s sentiments were appropriate ones to be thought in accordance with. Harry noted a few others, however, giving the girl sharp looks, seemingly suspicious about the obviously rehearsed words.

“Let’s not underestimate that one,” he murmured softly to Cedric, who subtly nodded his agreement.

“How have you all been preparing for the tournament?” A reporter with the faintest hint of a French accent asked, earning himself a glare from Miss Skeeter for his troubles.

“Wrestling anacondas.” The Brazilian boy from earlier said immediately, his comment receiving several snorts of amusement for the irony he didn’t seem to appreciate.

“I ‘ave been training wiz several aurorz from my country.” Fleur Delacour commented, which was apparently exactly what the reporter had wanted.

The group interview went on for another twenty minutes or so, Harry and Cedric, along with a few of the other competitors, carefully keeping their silence, much to Skeeter’s apparent disappointment.

“Now,” she declared eventually, “I think some group photographs before we all sneak away with our champions.”

“Please don’t let her sneak away with me.” Cedric commented softly.

Harry laughed. “I’m not sure it’s you who requires protection.”

They were all chivvied into position by the photographers. It took some considerable time as they decided that each of the photos for their country’s publication required their competitors to be sat in the middle of the group, alongside their head teacher.

Harry and Cedric found themselves dragged off by Miss Skeeter shortly after that, trying not to wince under her clutching talons.

“Isn’t this nice?” She exclaimed as they came to a small room stacked with old furniture, seating herself and pulling out an acid green quill.

“Delightful.” Harry remarked drily before narrowing his eyes at the woman. “However, Miss Skeeter, I find it somewhat problematic that your editor selected you to conduct this interview.”

“Problematic, dear?” She asked, before jumping slightly as the quill hovering beside her disappeared in a flash of silent flame.

“All contact and correspondence between myself and the Daily Prophet is to be handled either by Samuel Ardenny or the editor himself. I have no interest in cheap gossip, Miss Skeeter, and my displeasure will be made known to Mr Cuffe.”

“But surely, you can spare me just a few words?” She said persuasively, leaning forwards in her rickety chair and pushing her cleavage towards him.

“Miss Skeeter. Be in no doubt. I may indeed be fourteen years old, but a couple of owls from me could make you homeless and unemployable before the morning edition hits the presses. There will be no interview. There will be no further contact between us. Any attempt to establish such contact will result in legal proceedings.”

She opened her mouth, looking for the first time unsure of what to say.

“Mr Diggory is similarly disinclined to subject himself to your advances.” Harry continued, having no intention of leaving the object of his lust alone with the woman.

They left.

“That was fun.” Cedric said, grinning. “But she is dangerous. My father’s found himself attacked by her a couple of times in the past.”

“I am not your father.” _Thank Merlin,_ he added internally. “Call me arrogant, but I suspect myself to be far more valuable to the Prophet at the moment than Miss Skeeter. She’s not naïve enough to not know there are a dozen replacements lined up to take her place as soon as she makes one enemy too many.”

* * *

“Potter.”

Harry turned his head towards the growl, and waited as Professor Moody impatiently gestured Daphne and Liram onwards.

“Professor?” He asked when they were alone.

“You know what you’re going to do in this task?” The man asked, magical eye whirling about whilst the still living one focused on him beadily.

“Do you doubt me?”

Moody frowned slightly.

“Brooms, Potter.” He said before stumping away.

Harry eyed the retreating form for a few seconds before turning to catch up with his friends, who he found waiting for him around the next corner.

“What did he want?” Liram asked.

Harry shrugged.

“To help me with the First Task.”

“Curious.” Daphne murmured softly.

Liram grinned. “He thinks you need help? Throwing off his imperius must not have been enough to impress him.”

“Anyone with a rudimentary understanding of Occlumency could have broken the imperius he was tossing about. Neither you nor Daphne even blinked.”

Daphne chuckled darkly. “My father would disown me if I had. He’d probably have had Moody killed as well, but falling prey to the imperius is an indignity no Greengrass will suffer.”

Liram smirked. “I’m sure Lord Malfoy would be delighted to hear your views on the subject.”

She returned his expression. “Oh, he knows what my father thinks. It keeps him slightly on-edge when the two of them negotiate.”

“Poor Lucius.” Harry commented. “Although I feel more sorry for Weasley, being made to confess his forbidden love for Professor Snape.”

Daphne actually giggled.

“That was artistically done of Moody.” She agreed. “The sort of thing that’s hilarious when it happens, and then just builds from there. I wonder what will happen when Snape finds out.”

“No idea.” Said Liram. “But you can be fairly sure that the first he hears of it will not involve him being told the imperius was involved.”

At that point he stumbled slightly as the redhead shoved past him, followed closely by Neville and Seamus.

“I don’t know whether I feel guilty now or not.” Daphne commented with a faint sigh.

“Don’t.” Harry advised her. “I rescued the Creevey brothers from a cupboard yesterday. Apparently they’d been locked in there by Weasley overnight.”

His companions frowned.

“Well, that’s bad, of course.” Liram nodded. “Although, if that one doesn’t stop following us around with his ridiculous camera I might have to lock him up myself.”

“Agreed.” Said Daphne.

* * *

“And Heidwallader’s Fourth Coefficient Matrix can be applied to the principle, making the whole thing cyclical.”

Cedric was silent for a while.

“Vector said you were good, but this…”

Harry grinned. “Don’t be modest. She raves about you as well, you know.”

Cedric blushed slightly.

“Besides, muggle 3D modelling software gives me something of an unfair advantage in this.” Harry continued, gesturing towards the laptop whose screen was being projected onto the wall.

“It is amazing.” Cedric acknowledged. “You’re going to have to show me how to use it. Muggle Studies barely goes into any detail on computers.”

“Save me the amusement of hearing Worthington talk about them. I think they’re one of next term’s modules.”

Cedric grinned and nodded.

“I look forwards to hearing your assessment.”

* * *

“So, Pup, how’s life?”

Harry couldn’t help but smile back at Sirius’ irrepressibly grinning face. He leant back in his chair slightly, the enchanted mirror hovering in front of him adjusting its position automatically to stay focused on his face.

“Pretty good. I think I can safely say that the First Task isn’t going to be a problem.”

Sirius kept grinning.

“Never doubted it for a minute. Although, looking at the format, if you draw too much attention you might get gangbanged.”

“Cedric and my strategy should negate that risk. Whilst possibly encouraging it.”

Sirius’ face twisted in confusion.

“You want to get gangbanged? That’s pretty hardcore for a fourteen year old.”

Harry rolled his eyes and waited, smirking faintly, for his godfather to process the other part of his statement.

“Wait,” he said suddenly, “ _Cedric_ and my strategy?”

“You didn’t think I’d leave the other Hogwarts champion out in the cold, did you?” Harry questioned innocently.

Sirius grinned dirtily.

“I’ve seen photos. The last thing you want to do is leave that boy out in the cold. Unless it’s so you can offer to warm him up later.”

“He’s hot.” Harry acknowledged as casually as he could.

Sirius’ eyes sparkled. “Oh, he’s more than that. In all seriousness, I’m mostly straight, but when there’s a Greek god on offer…”

Harry let himself be drawn.

“He’s not. He’s mine.”

Sirius’ eyes widened momentarily before he laughed triumphantly.

“Does he know about this?”

“I hope so. If that Chang girl tries to sink her claws any deeper she’ll be found floating in the lake.”

Sirius whistled.

“Serious then.”

“He’s probably straight. Anyway, how are the aurors?”

Sirius let himself be distracted.

“Not too bad, actually. They’ve finally reinstated my seniority in some measure of apology.”

“I heard about that.” Harry said. “I’m sure Scrimgeour’s delighted.”

Sirius barked out a laugh.

“Old Rufus will come round. He’s just angry my squad demolished his in manoeuvres last week.”

Harry sighed. “Of course they did. Did diplomacy even make it into the top ten considerations?”

Sirius grinned.

“You wound me. I’m a gentleman. I tied him up and told him I’d like to negotiate the terms of his surrender.”

“I don’t know whether to laugh or despair.”

“Despair.” Came the prompt reply from somewhere out of Sirius’ mirror’s view. A few seconds later the image drew back to take in his aunt and grandmother sitting together on a settee next to Sirius’ armchair.

“Hey Aunt Mim, Granny.” Harry greeted them cheerfully.

“I hope you’re well prepared for this First Task.” Dorea said with fake severity.

“I’d hate for London to be underwhelmed by the news of my exploits.” Harry shot back flippantly.

“You really would be. Rumours of your academic success have already reached certain ears in the capital. You will be being watched with even more interest than your fame and position alone would merit.”

“I’ve had plenty of press training with Aunt Mim.” Harry said. “The scrutiny might be much harsher now, but I know the principles.”

Dorea and Aunt Mim nodded approvingly, whilst Sirius coughed “attention whore” behind his hand.

“You’ve done well with Ardenny.” His grandmother acknowledged. “I’ve given him the exclusive for my time in exile. A small piece, but it will gain me some favours if it’s handled with enough delicacy.”

“Sirius’ trial was spun brilliantly.”

His aunt narrowed her eyes at him.

“Stop fishing for compliments, I saw so much of your hand in the article I was surprised you weren’t credited as a co-author.”

“Give me a minute and I’ll work up a blush.”

Sirius snorted.

“Ask about his boyfriend.”

“Cedric is not my boyfriend.” Harry replied coolly.

His Aunt looked interested even as his grandmother frowned faintly.

“Harry,” she began with a slight note of warning, “I suspect it extremely unlikely that Amos would take anything between you and his son kindly.”

“I appreciate your concern, but when there is nothing more than friendship between Cedric and myself, it would seem to be somewhat unnecessary.” He replied with some finality.

His Aunt’s eyes narrowed slightly, but Dorea nodded.

“So, how’s the trial, Aunt Mim?” Harry questioned, moving the conversation on again.

She smiled a truly frightening smile.

“I’ve moved to prevent their extradition. If I can keep them in their own country then pressing for capital punishment shouldn’t prove impossible.”

Harry raised an eyebrow.

“The Geneva Convention flew right by you, didn’t it?”

His Aunt smirked slightly.

“The what?”

“You know, you’d fit right in in the magical world. The Ministry has about twenty prisoners a year kissed.”

She sniffed disapprovingly.

“A hopelessly inefficient, unnecessarily cruel method of execution.”

“Yeah, I think it just lets the magical world indulge its psychopathic tendencies when there aren’t any wars going on.”

Dorea chuckled lightly.

“We haven’t had proper psychopath in the family for nearly fourteen hundred years.”

“Dare I ask?” Aunt Mim inquired.

“Chief Hardaxe’s rebellion of 648. Ophiuchia Black, according to family records, single-handedly crushed an army of four thousand goblins, killing more than half of them. She is still known as the Drasta-ar-Rep, or ‘Curse of our People’ by the clans.” Dorea said.

“She slew Hardaxe in single combat, and necromantically animated the corpses of the goblins she killed to turn upon their brethren. The only recorded instance of more than five hundred inferi created whilst in battle.” Harry finished.

“My mother’s most coveted ancestor.” Sirius added. “For obvious reasons.”

“You’re all coming to the First Task?”

“Wouldn’t miss it, Pup.” Sirius replied cheerfully. “In fact, it’s likely to be my squad leading the security detail.”

“Your reward for beating Scrimgeour?”

“Something like that.”

“We’ll be there as well.” His grandmother assured him.

“Excellent. Although, just a heads-up, I doubt my performance in this task will be particularly dramatic.”

Dorea raised an eyebrow.

“I can probably settle for impressive but understated.”

“Excellent.”


	16. Fight for It

“My, my, so many interested in a mere school competition.” Daphne noted, arching a pale brow.

“You wound me.”

“The tournament is pretty internationally significant.” Liram reasoned. “A lot of competitors are the future leaders of the magical world. There are almost certainly Olympic scouts watching, well, watching those who aren’t already being trained to compete.”

“But still, seating for twenty thousand would seem a little excessive.”

Harry shrugged.

“Tickets sold out within twenty four hours of the Prophet announcing them.”

Liram nodded.

“If you lived too far from London then your owl was unlikely to make it in time.”

“Well, it looks like I have to leave you guys here.” Harry told his friends as they arrived outside the tent he’d been told to present himself at.

They both hugged him briefly before walking off towards the stands. Taking a moment to get over Liram’s momentary closeness, Harry walked inside. Competitors milled about nervously. The muted sound of retching could be heard from screened-off sections at the back.

“Looking good.” Harry grinned as he greeted an approaching Cedric. The other boy was dressed in a soft grey shirt, collar unbuttoned, that highlighted the taper of his torso and had its sleeves rolled up to reveal muscled forearms.

“You too.” He was told after a slight pause, as Cedric took in his own equally tight-fitting white shirt and dark jeans.

“Vy are you not drezzed properly?”

Harry decided to respond in English this time, to give the Russian bear a chance to practice.

“Well,” he gestured expansively, “I felt no need to wrap myself up with the weather so warm.” He grinned. “Nor do I have any fear of attack.” He eyed the other student’s thick layers of brown dragonhide pointedly.

“Your arrogance will get you killed, boy.” The other Russian student told him as he came once more to drag his companion away.

“Well, so much for an uneventful First Task.” Cedric commented lightly.

“Couldn’t resist. Besides, Andrei is adorable when he’s angry.”

Cedric frowned suddenly, eyeing the bulky Russian.

“Anyway,” Harry continued, “you’re ready?”

The other boy’s eyes sharpened with excitement.

“I am.”

And in that moment, he was irresistible.

Harry, forcing himself not to think too much, and with adrenaline already coursing through his veins, grabbed the other boy’s hand and dragged Cedric back into one of the curtained alcoves at the rear of the tent.

“What?” Cedric managed to ask before he was cut off.

Harry pushed him up against the canvas wall of the tent and kissed him.

_Fuck, but I really won’t regret this, whatever happens._ Harry thought as he pressed himself against firm lips.

One simultaneously fantastic and agonising moment later, and Cedric was kissing him back. Strong arms came up to wrap themselves around his neck, even as his own dropped from the other boy’s shoulders to grip his waist.

Eventually, their lips broke apart.

“Fuck.” Cedric gasped out.

The sight of the other boy, usually so poised and composed, flushed and panting slightly, forced Harry to press in again.

Harry had never kissed another boy. He couldn’t imagine that he needed to kiss others to find any better than this one. They seemed to move together instinctively.

Even their second kiss had to come to an end eventually, though. Still holding on to one another, they composed themselves for a moment broken only by gasped breaths.

“I think I like you, Harry.” Cedric said softly, eventually.

“I think I like you too, Cedric.” Harry replied, suddenly enjoying the way the other boy’s name rolled off his tongue, and appreciating the reverent press of syllables given to his own.

They both started slightly as what sounded like a cannon boomed suddenly in the background.

“Champions!” Came Bagman’s customary battle-cry.

Harry stared into those gorgeous grey eyes for a moment longer before pulling away.

“We’d better go.” He said reluctantly.

Cedric sighed slightly before nodding and following him.

* * *

Someone had managed to wedge Bagman into vaguely sensible clothes. If the slight note of disgruntlement in his expression was anything to go by, then the Ministry Head of Department robes weren’t to his taste.

“Gather round.” He told the champions, whilst a couple of his colleagues removed anyone else from the vicinity.

Once they were all stood in a semi-circle in front of him, he beamed.

“Now, when my fellow adjudicator appears…” he began even as Lord Crouch stepped up beside him, moustache neatly guillotined and trousers creased to maximum aerodynamic efficiency.

“Here, Ludo.” He said stiffly, sweeping his eyes over the assembly.

“Excellent.” Lord Crouch flinched slightly as Bagman thumped him cheerfully on the back.

“Champions, this afternoon is a free for all. Essentially, you are to be released into the stadium, and the last twelve standing will progress.”

“So ve are to vight each other?” Andrei asked, eyes fixed on Harry.

“Someone’s got an obsession.” Harry whispered to Cedric.

The other boy responded by narrowing his eyes at the Russian student.

Meanwhile, Ludo was looking delighted.

“Exactly!”

Lord Crouch stepped in.

“Standard international competition duelling rules. The use of any spells beyond ICW Index Four will result in immediate disqualification.” He left unsaid the implication obvious to those present; that disqualification would not at this stage nullify the contract. Candidates removed by the organisers would lose their magic.

“How are we to join the arena? Are we to be positioned randomly, or by school?” The Chilean girl asked.

“You will be portkeyed into the arena. You will all be positioned around the edge, randomly rather than by institution. A countdown will then begin, during which you are not allowed to move from your position or take any offensive actions. Beyond that, you’re on your own. You will all also be provided with an emergency portkey.”

At this, he drew a black cloth bag from his robes. Each champion was passed a small glass sphere.

“Once these enter the arena, they become touch activated, so make sure not to use them by mistake.”

Harry eyed his portkey with satisfaction. He nodded briefly at Cedric, finding himself unable to stop a smile at the sight of the other boy.

“I suggest you all place a drop of blood on your portkeys.” Lord Crouch continued. “This will tie them to you for the next couple of hours, and allow them to automatically remove you from the arena should your injuries become life-threatening.”

Several champions swallowed visibly at that, the reality of the tournament apparently now beginning to hit home.

Crouch drew out a steel chain, from which were suspended twenty four sequential numbers.

“This is the portkey that will take you to the arena.” He tapped it briefly with his wand and muttered something. “It will activate in three minutes. Each of you should be touching a single number, and no other part. Before you ask, of course the numbers do not in any way correspond to your subsequent position in the arena.”

He left the tent.

“Well. Good luck!” Bagman exclaimed, before bounding after his colleague.

As soon as they left, the tent became a mass of conversation and movement as champions tried to work out plans to reach their schoolmate, and grasped for the arena portkey.

Wordlessly, Cedric pricked his finger and pressed a drop of his blood to Harry’s portkey.

“Reach me.”

Harry grinned at him.

“Oh, nothing could keep me away now.”

Cedric blushed slightly as they took their numbers.

“And…three…two…one…”Harry mouthed to him, feeling the runes in the chain locking together as the timed-release mechanism activated.

* * *

Sand, sun and screaming crowds. An ominously coliseum-like setting.

Harry quickly surveyed the surrounding champions and found Cedric, golden and perfect in the sunlight, immediately opposite. He grinned.

“Eight…seven…six…”

Bagman’s steadily boomed countdown fell.

Harry levitated the emergency portkey out of his pocket. Hovering in front of him, he flooded magic into it, focusing on a spot next to his fellow champion.

“One.”

An impressively quickly loosed spell from the champion immediately to his right flashed towards him. The magic suspending the glass marble had, however, been released, and it dropped neatly into his waiting palm.

He snapped back into existence a fraction of a second later.

He almost shivered at the caress of magic he could feel from behind Cedric’s gleaming shield.

“You can give me a minute?”

Cedric smiled at him.

“Easily.” His voice wasn’t even strained, in spite of the battery of spells exploding against the silvery dome he was holding around them.

Harry, shaking off the impact of the smile, stepped back to the wall of the arena, thick timbers eight feet high and carved deeply with runes.

Two flashed spells later and a large section of the runes had been copied and drawn in seven concentric circles into the sand.

A drop of his blood and twist of his fingers, and the emergency portkey was ground into a fine powder. Its remains were spread, very thinly, out amongst the runes in the sand.

Harry drew his basilisk wand and pressed its tip to the binding rune that was the centre of that section of the stadium’s wards. It burned away. The magic behind it, now free, tried to escape, but was carefully drawn into the new pattern on the ground.

The binding rune had just kept the magic stuck cycling around that particular system.The new runes rebound it, but made the system slightly larger.

Harry poured some of his own magic into the array on the ground and watched, satisfied, as a brief flare ran around the circles.

“You can drop the shield now.” He told Cedric calmly.

“You’ve done it already?”

“Yup. Told you I was good.”

The other boy chuckled and released his shield.

Seeing the shimmering barrier drop, the four champions now apparently united in attacking it, paused momentarily before redoubling their efforts with vaguely triumphant expressions.

The expressions vanished with their spells. None of them even made it past the outermost ring of runes, which glowed faintly as it absorbed and dispelled each assault.

“No half measures from the Ministry.” Harry commented as he conjured a couple of outdoor chairs and a table.

Cedric eyed the array.

“Apparently not.” He replied, raising an amused eyebrow as he took his seat.

* * *

“Remarkable!” Boomed Bagman. “The Hogwarts champions appear to be using some sort of runic construction as a shield! I must say, I’ve never seen anything like it, and certainly not done so quickly. It’s taking a heavy battering, though, and one has to wonder how long the protection will last.”

He chuckled.

“Not apparently a concern shared by the local competitors; who appear to be rather more relaxed than one would have expected.”

The crowd tittered slightly.

“Ouch!” The commentator exclaimed suddenly. “That must have hurt!” He commiserated as the non-Fleur Beauxbatons champion drew himself to his feet gingerly, having been thrown viciously against the wall in front of the stands by one of the Chinese competitors.

“And I make it seventeen competitors we’re down to now. It’s been a bloody opening few minutes, with several champions being caught off guard, but things appear to have settled down somewhat.”

“Goodness! I’m not sure that was strictly necessary. You might want to cover your eyes, ladies.” Bagman suggested jovially, as the crowd, completely ignoring his suggestion, giggled and muttered over the newly-naked boy from Casa Rafaello, who had apparently been forced to vanish his clothes before they tied him up.

The girl from Ilvermorny responsible was also distracted by the view, though, to the extent that the Italian, conjuring himself some underwear, was able to stun and bind her.

“Poor girl.” Commented an obviously grinning Bagman. “Apparently got more than she expected with that one.”

McGonagall’s viciously disapproving glare was lost amongst the laughter.

“And the Hogwarts competitors still seem to be holding strong, although I’m not quite sure where they’ve got those drinks from.”

* * *

Cedric and Harry sat sipping iced lemonade in the sunshine.

“I’m not sure we’re supposed to have house elves bring us refreshments.” Cedric noted drily.

Harry shrugged.

“Weirdly, that one doesn’t seem to have made it into the official tournament rulebook. I wonder when they’re going to give up?”

Cedric glanced at the two Russians still trying to break their way past the ward.

“I think your friend,” his voice darkened on the last word, “is determined.”

“Then the other one will leave him. They’re too exposed where they are.”

Cedric nodded his agreement, watching a group of the other champions as they gradually moved in.

Dimitry, as Harry remembered the more sensible seeming Koldovstoretz student being called, tried snapping off an order to Andrei, but was ignored. He gave up, and walked quickly backwards until he was pressed up against the perimeter wall, abandoning his fellow.

Andrei fell pretty quickly, a gap in the layers of dragonhide at his neck apparently more than wide enough for the pretty Chilean girl to flick a body-bind into.

She flashed a smile at the two sheltered Hogwarts champions, before turning away to begin dueling fiercely with the remaining Russian, receiving cover from her own schoolmate.

* * *

“Thirteen!”

Bagman was, if little else, a good commentator. The pace had slowed down dramatically after the initial casualties, and nearly six minutes elapsed between the falls of the tenth and eleventh champions. The defeat of the last was more timely.

“Ouch! My goodness, that was brutal!” Exclaimed Bagman.

“Impressive.” Commented Cedric, as they watched the Chilean girl exchange a respectful nod with Dimitry, the boy she’d been duelling for nearly fifteen minutes solid.

“Yes. Although, admittedly, he wasn’t nearly as good and might have become dead weight in later tasks. He’d certainly cut down on the amount of publicity she gets back home.”

“Agreed. It’s good neither of us share those concerns.” Cedric acknowledged as they watched the tournament officials come into the arena to collect the fallen champions. The Chilean girl crouched down to revive the fellow student she’d stunned from behind at the last moment.

He seemed to take the backstabbing graciously, however.

“Now that’s practicality.” Harry commented. “They must have had that worked out as a contingency. She’s in this competition to win.”

“Think she will?”

“Not a chance.” He grinned in response to the question, even as he swept the rune circles drawn in the sand away with a flick of his wand.

“Ready to be interviewed?”

Cedric smiled.

“If we must. I take it we’ll be speaking to someone less objectionable than Skeeter?”

“Naturally. Mr Cuffe was remarkably unwilling to suffer my ire. I understand Rita has suddenly become the Prophet’s agony Aunt.”

Cedric laughed.

“I can only imagine her exacerbating the problems she’s given.”

“Agreed.”

* * *

“My children!”

“I sincerely hope not.” Cedric muttered to Harry.

Dumbledore, in deep purple robes and wearing a crown of laurel leaves like some sort of pseudo Roman emperor, smiled gently.

“You have done us all proud.”

“Indeed they have, headmaster.” Agreed a delighted looking Professor Slughorn.

Harry allowed himself to be grabbed from behind and spun around, even as he grinned at Cedric’s instinctively raising his wand at the surprise assailant.

“Well played, pup.” Complimented his godfather, finally dropping him.

“Thanks.”

He grinned at his Aunt and Grandmother as they made a more dignified entrance into the champions’ tent.

“Well, Granny, what will London think?”

“That you’re remarkably lazy and arrogant.” She rejoindered.

“Ah well, it runs in the family, I suppose.” Harry commented, with a pointed look at Sirius.

“It does.” He agreed with a straight face. “Your parents were the same.”

Slughorn chuckled merrily.

“Now, now, Sirius, the last thing Lily was was lazy.”

“Lord Potter-Black, might I congratulate you, and you as well, Mr Diggory, on a stunning first performance?”

“Thank you, Mr Ardenny,” Harry said pleasantly, “but I think ‘stunning’ might be stretching it a little far.”

Cedric nodded.

“Understated, perhaps? Effortless, collected?”

They watched as the reporter scribbled busily.

“So, after seeing the other champions’ performances, who do you think is your most serious competition?”

“Well, Isadora looks to be a formidable opponent.” Cedric said immediately, naming the Chilean girl.

“Dimitry, the girl from Xi-Xo-An, the boy from Mahoutokoro, and perhaps Mademoiselle Delacour.” Harry added.

Ardenny nodded.

“It’s rumoured you’ve met Miss Delacour before. Is there, perhaps, anything there?” He asked with a slight smile.

Harry felt Cedric stiffen slightly beside him, and instinctively wanted to reach out and reassure him.

“I was honoured to have the pleasure of her company at a reception held by her father the year before last. She is a formidable witch and a charming lady. I hope we consider one another friends, but there is nothing more between us.” He said smoothly, smiling internally as he felt Cedric’s stance beside him relax.

“And you, Mr Diggory, any comment on your supposed romance with the delightful Miss Chang?”

It was Harry’s turn to feel possessive.

Cedric however, behind his neutral façade, looked slightly irritated.

“I have no idea what source your information has come from, but I suggest you ignore it in future.” He told Ardenny firmly.

The reporter looked suitably quelled, and asked a few more innocuous questions before disappearing.

“His diplomacy could use some work.” Dorea commented disapprovingly.

“Ced!”

Cedric was seized by a beaming man, making it Harry’s turn to think about his wand.

“So proud, my boy, so proud.”

“Thank you, father.” Cedric replied slightly stiffly, slowly disengaging himself and smiling past his father’s shoulder towards a woman Harry assumed to be his mother.

“Indeed, congratulations to the pair of you.” Said the slim blonde, who, disadvantaged by a decade, still rivalled his aunt in attractiveness.

“My thanks, Lady Diggory, although most of the credit must, I fear, lie with your son.”

Cedric snorted incredulously.

“It’s the other way around, mother.” He told her.

She smiled indulgently.

“Both so diplomatic.”

“That’s my Ced. Always trying to give others the credit for his hard work.”

Aunt Mim blinked at Lord Diggory.

“He doesn’t mean that.” Lady Diggory assured Harry in a tone of faint resignation.

Cedric aimed a faintly pained smile at him.

* * *

Harry lounged indolently on a chaise in front of the fireplace in the Blackleprickle common room, feigning relaxation to himself. It was well past midnight and both of his housemates had retired for the night.

The long-awaited knock came eventually. Harry willed the door open to see Cedric standing outside.

They grinned brightly and instinctively at one another. Pushing past the prospect of awkwardness, they met one another in the middle of the room.

“Missed you.” Harry murmured, pressing his lips against the warmth of Cedric’s neck as the other boy wrapped his arms around him.

Cedric quirked a small smile.

“I escaped the party as soon as I could. I didn’t really want to be there, to be honest.”

Harry pulled back to face him, grinning.

“I admit I’m probably a slightly more attractive prospect than squealing third years.”

Cedric smirked faintly.

“You’re only a fourth year.”

“For some reason. Anyway, let’s go up to my rooms.”

He grabbed Cedric’s hand and pulled the other boy after him to the staircase.

“Hold on tight.” He told him, indicating the brass rail.

Harry took advantage of his own warning to wrap an arm around Cedric’s slim waist, before clicking his heel twice against the bottom step.

He felt Cedric shift slightly in surprise as the staircase started spiralling smoothly upwards.

“Was this already installed?”

“Nope. I had the goblins do it. Got the idea from _Hogwarts: A History’s_ description of the stairway to the headmaster’s office. Having to climb ten storeys every time I wanted to access my rooms seemed somewhat excessive.”

Harry reluctantly let go of the other boy as the staircase stopped in front of an ironbound door. He pressed both hands flat against the surface, which disappeared under them.

* * *

“Wow.” Cedric said softly as he followed Harry inside.

He grinned slightly.

“I admit it’s not very wizardy.” He acknowledged.

“It’s spectacular.” Cedric breathed out, turning round to see the door had vanished. Beyond the plate glass, the tower that held the staircase also seemed to have disappeared.

Harry had bisected the large, circular space with a single wall.

The original stone exterior walls had been replaced in their entirety by enormous sheets of tempered glass that ringed the space.It had cost a fortune to get the best goblin engineers in to do the work, and another one to have the vast illusions woven into place, illusions that meant the tower appeared identical to how it had for centuries from the outside.

The view was magnificent. Hogwarts’ other towers rose in candlelit splendour against the star-laden sky.

A desk stood off to the right, in front of the windows and near the neat bookshelves that filled the dividing wall. A thick cream carpet covered the floor and heavy lamps scattered the space, emanating pools of warm light. He took Cedric to the left side of the room, where low-slung furniture sat grouped around a large coffee table.

Harry dropped himself into a chair.

“So, how would Blackleprickle regard a transfer request?” Cedric joked lightly as he settled himself.

“I think we’d welcome it.” Harry said honestly. “But I know you’re far too loyal to Hufflepuff.”

Cedric nodded slowly before his expression became more serious.

“So, what are we?” He asked slightly nervously.

Harry paused to collect his thoughts.

“I know this is new…” he began, “but I meant what I said earlier. I really do like you.”

They met one another’s eyes shyly.

“I feel the same. So, Harry, would you be my boyfriend?”

Cedric blushed slightly at the brilliance of the smile he received.

“I’d love to be, as long as that makes you mine.”

“I’m yours.” Cedric said softly.

At that, Harry felt compelled to stand up and move over to stand in front of Cedric. He swallowed at the naked affection in those gorgeous eyes, before dropping himself into his boyfriend’s lap.

Cedric exclaimed slightly in surprise, but his arms instinctively wrapped around him.

“Hello, beautiful.” Harry said softly, leaning in.

Half an hour of kissing later found the pair of them stretched out on the sofa, Harry lying comfortably on top of his boyfriend, chin resting on folded hands on Cedric’s firm chest.

“I take it we don’t want to be open about our relationship?” He asked quietly.

Cedric’s dropping eyelids fluttered open and his arms tightened around Harry’s waist. He sighed softly.

“Of course I want to be. I’m afraid my father wouldn’t take it well, however.”

Harry smiled and leaned in for another kiss.

“No pressure. I’m not ready yet, either. I’m getting enough attention as it is without raising the ire of half the purebloods in Britain.”

Cedric drew him closer.

“Thank you.”

* * *

Harry woke to find himself supremely comfortable and peculiarly warm. He remembered where he was just before he opened his eyes.

He blinked once before focusing on the warm grey eyes that were staring at him.

“Hey.” Cedric greeted him, smiling gently.

“Morning.” Harry replied, before tilting his head slightly and smirking faintly. “You know,” he began, ”you’d be a much better pillow if you were a bit chubbier.”

Cedric laughed, a warm, relaxed sound.

His eyes sparkled faintly with mischief as he turned them onto their sides.

“You mean you don’t like me as I am?” He questioned, pulling up his t-shirt to reveal several inches of tanned and toned abdominals.

Harry stared admiringly for a few seconds before flipping himself over the back of the sofa.

“Don’t tempt me.”

Cedric grinned in triumph and stood, before composing himself.

“You can offer me a shower and a change of clothes?”

“Of course. There’s an entrance to the bathroom behind that bookcase, just push the left side of the frame. I’ll find you some clothes.”

* * *

“You seem remarkably cheerful this morning?” Liram questioned curiously as he watched Harry fill his plate with smoked salmon.

He nearly blushed, but brushed it off.

“Well, have you seen the Prophet’s headline?” He asked, waving a hand to unfold and float it in front of Liram.

“Not that you’re showing off or anything.” Daphne commented as she came to sit on his other side.

“Well, it’s shortened the odds on me quite a bit, so I’m not particularly happy about it.”

She smirked.

“Father put his money on you weeks ago.Eighty to one, I believe.”

“That’s just insulting.”

Liram raised an eyebrow at him.

“So what did you get?”

“Fifty to one.”

* * *

“There is matter I wanted to bring up this morning.” Professor Slughorn announced. He’d joined Blackleprickle from breakfast and made cheerful conversation with his students for ten minutes before he arrived at his intended topic.

“And what might that be, Professor?” Daphne asked, eyeing him steadily from behind a cup of herbal tea.

“The Yule Ball, my dear.” Slughorn told her delightedly.

“Is this what’s going to keep us here over the holiday?” Liram asked resignedly.

“No need to look so downcast, my boy. It promises to be a marvellous event.”

“Tell us about it, professor?” Daphne asked.

“It’s a Ball.” Slughorn deadpanned, before giving in to the unimpressed expressions he was receiving.

“It is to be held on the twenty-fourth of this month and begin at eight in the evening. It comprises a formal meal, to which all professors, champions, ex-champions and their families, as well as Hogwarts students in fourth year or above, the unselected representatives of the competing schools, and senior members of the Ministry and society in general are invited. Following the meal is the ball itself, which will open with a dance from the champions and their partners.”

He indicated Harry with his last statement.

“Must we attend?” Daphne asked, looking utterly disinterested.

Harry turned to her with a hurt expression.

“What happened to house solidarity? If I’m being forced to go, then you surely wouldn’t abandon me?”

Liram sighed.

“Well, I suppose my father’s going, so I’d better be there.”

Slughorn, who had been looking slightly upset at the lack of enthusiasm, relaxed at the display of resignation.

“I’m sure it will be a wonderful evening.” He told them jovially, before levering himself his feet. “And don’t forget to bring partners.” He told them sternly before waddling out.


	17. Find Yourself a Partner

“We need to go on a recruiting drive.”

“What?” Liram asked, looking up from where he was working at a desk next to a window.

“I think Slughorn is right and the three of us probably are too few.”

Harry grinned at Daphne, who was lounging opposite him on an identical chaise in the common room. Even dwarfed by the massive surroundings and with her shoeless feet drawn up after her, she looked older than her fourteen years. Her form was flattered by the simple lines of a white silk wrap dress that defied the freezing temperatures outside and her hair was twisted back in a simple knot. With her pale blue eyes gleaming in the bright winter sunlight, Harry decided that she had never looked more beautiful.

It was a shame that her face and shapely sheerly clad legs held no further allure for him.

“Any suggestions?’ He asked. ”You two have been here far longer than me.”

Daphne deposited the book she’d been reading on the low table between them.

“In our year? Tracey Davis, Blaise Zabini.”

Harry nodded. He liked Tracey a lot; she and Daphne had been friends for as long as either could remember and the cheerful girl often ate with them at the Blackleprickle table or joined them in the common room in the evenings. Blaise he knew less well, but the boy was handsome and charming, and his family was extremely influential in Italy.

“Anthony and Padma, too.” Liram suggested, coming over to join the pair of them. The two Ravenclaws Harry had met on the train had been friends with Liram since their first year at Hogwarts, and although Liram now seemed to prefer the company of Harry and Daphne, they sometimes came to join Blackleprickle for meals and spent the occasional lunchtime with them.

“Just those four?”

Daphne made an elegant gesture with one hand that Harry had come to learn was her version of a shrug.

“They’re all regularlyin the top ten in our year. They’re all clever outside of the classroom and interesting to talk to.” She paused.

“Okay. Let’s invite them to join us, then. Anyone outside of our year spring to mind?”

“Well, you seem to have become friends with Cedric.” Daphne noted neutrally.

_Cedric._ Harry thought, lips quirking into an involuntarily smile that he noticed Daphne picking up on. _Which reminds me, I need to talk to him about the Yule Ball._ He hadn’t had a chance to speak to his newly-minted boyfriend since Slughorn’s talk the previous day and, although not looking forwards to the discussion, was already missing his presence.

“I suspect he’s too loyal to Hufflepuff to even consider it, though he did joke about a transfer request when he saw our accommodation.”

Liram grinned.

“Well we’d better not invite too many to join us or we’ll have to start sharing.”

* * *

“Hi.”

“Hey.”

They grinned slightly nervously at one another. They’d spent every spare moment they had with one another in the few days they’d been together, but the looming prospect of the Yule Ball had put both of them on edge.

Harry took the plunge.

“The Yule Ball.” He paused. “I don’t think we should go together.”

Cedric frowned.

“Why not?”

They were alone together in Harry’s sitting area, so he stood and moved over to straddle Cedric’s lap, putting his arms over his boyfriend’s shoulders and leaning in to kiss him briefly.

“I want to.” He moved back in to press his lips to the side of Cedric’s neck and nibble briefly on his earlobe, smirking at the sharp exhalation his action earned him. “I want nothing more than to go with you. Sit with you in public. Dance with you.” He grinned slightly as he felt Cedric shiver beneath him as he whispered in his ear. “I hate the idea of you going with someone else. Holding someone else. Dancing with someone else.” Cedric’s arms tightened around his waist as he contemplated the prospect of Harry taking someone who wasn't him.

“You haven’t told me why we can't go together yet.”

Harry sighed.

“Think about how it looks. Two champions who teamed up in the First Task are boyfriends. I’m technically too young to be competing in the tournament. It seems suspicious. Couple that with the continued press interest in both me and the tournament.” He paused. “Plus, it wouldn’t be an enjoyable evening together. We’d be the focus of everyone’s attention. Everyone’s immediate emotional response to the news.”

Cedric dropped his head forwards to rest against Harry’s chest.

“I suppose you’re right.” He agreed. “It’ll take my father a long time to get over the news, if he ever does. We’ll have to reveal ourselves eventually, though.” He reasoned.

“Don’t worry.” Harry told him. “We will. I’m just not quite ready yet.”

Cedric nodded, his forehead rubbing against Harry’s t-shirt.

“Nor I.”

* * *

“Madamoiselle Delacour.”

“‘Arry!” Fleur exclaimed, beaming at him. “Come in.”

The Beauxbatons students were staying in their carriage for the duration of the tournament. A pretty girl who had immediately started giggling upon seeing him had let him in and shown him to Fleur’s door.

He followed after her into a large and elegantly decorated room painted the same shades of white and pale blue as the outside of the carriage. Fleur took a seat in one of a couple of delicate chairs sat on either side of a small table next to a false window that was enchanted to show an alpine meadow in bloom with snow-capped mountains soaring dramatically in the background.

He sat opposite her.

“Tea or coffee?” She asked politely.

“Just water.”

She nodded, smiling, and instructed a summoned house elf to bring refreshments.

“So,” she began, eyes dancing with a mixture of amusement and curiosity “what can I do for you, Lord Potter-Black?”

He smiled at her, forcing away any nervousness.

“Lady Delacour,” he began “I was wondering whether you would do me the honour of being my partner at the Yule Ball?” He asked, relieved that his delivery was relatively smooth and apparently calm.

She paused, allowing him to become slightly uneasy. Suddenly, she beamed.

“Of course, ‘Arry, I would love to go with you.” She agreed, much to his relief. “Although, you must agree never to call me Lady Delacour again.” She feigned a shudder. “Zat is my mother.”

“My apologies. You are wise as well as generous.” He said.

She raised an eyebrow.

“Generous I can understand; taking pity on you. But wise? ‘Zat I am no so sure.”

“Did I not dance well enough for you in France? Can I not resist your allure? Do I not retain the ability to hold a conversation in your presence?”

She nodded slowly, waiting as the house elf returned and served drinks.

“Perhaps. But do you not think I find it flattering when men turn into ze dribbling mess in my presence?”

“I think you find it occasionally amusing, but mostly irritating.”

“I do.” She acknowledged, quirking a smile.

“How is Emmanuel?” He asked, changing to topic of conversation to inquire after the defeated Beauxbatons champion.

She shrugged delicately.

“A little put out ‘zat ‘e was beaten so easily, but otherwise unharmed.”

“Are you looking forwards to the Second Task?”

“We do not even know what eet ‘eez yet.” She exclaimed, her accent growing markedly stronger as she slapped a hand gently on the arm of her chair in frustration.

“We’ll soon find out, though.” He said acknowledging the note all the remaining champions had received that morning to say that they would be given more information in a meeting at the end of the week.

She nodded slowly.

“I suppose you are right. But I do not like all ‘zis waiting.” She said, impatience amusingly clear.

“Nor I,” he acknowledged, before grinning cheekily, “but if I must be patient in order to win then I am prepared to suffer.”

She laughed briefly before fixing him with a frown.

“You should not be so confident, Lord Potter-Black, for Fleur Delacour stands in your way.”

“I might as well give up now then.” He said, raising his hands in mock defeat.

She nodded firmly.

“You should.”

* * *

“Who are you taking?” Harry asked curiously.

Cedric looked down slightly guiltily.

“Cho.”

Harry felt jealousy rise with unexpected strength, but forced it back.

“She’s pretty.” He acknowledged neutrally.

Cedric glanced up at him, grinning slightly at the tone.

“She’s not nearly as hot as you are.”

“Of course not.” Harry agreed lightly.

“And who’s your… date?” Cedric asked, pausing over and injecting distaste into the last word.

“Fleur.”

Cedric actually stepped forwards, choking slightly.

“Delacour?” He asked incredulously.

Harry raised an eyebrow.

“Yes, why?”

“She’s beautiful.”

“I know.”

Seeing he wasn't getting through to Cedric, he moved in to hug and reassure him. Before speaking he pressed his lips against Cedric’s and kissed his boyfriend hungrily for a few seconds.

“Not nearly as beautiful as you are.”

Cedric blushed slightly before leaning in to kiss Harry possessively, wrapping his arms tightly around his waist.

* * *

“Sit down.”

The assembled champions hastily took the indicated seats, conversation quelled by Lord Crouch’s impassive stare.

“As the notes you received will have indicated, you are here to receive information about the Second Task.” Crouch said, ignoring Bagman, who was bouncing on the balls of his feet next to him.

“The twelve remaining champions are to be split into four groups of three.” He began. “The teams are randomly assigned but we have ensured that you will not be with a schoolmate.” He continued, indicating Cedric and Harry and the Xi-Xo-An champions; only two schools had managed to keep both of their competitors in the tournament.

With a faintly irritated nod he indicated Bagman forwards to continue.

“This Second Task is a test of teamwork.” Bagman announced. “Each of the four teams competes against the clock to achieve an objective that we won't reveal until the morning of the task. The team with the slowest time is automatically eliminated.” He paused, clearly relishing the tension. “The remaining nine champions will go through to the next task. However, although you compete in teams you will be scored on your performances individually, and those points are carried through.” He grinned. “Simple.”

Lord Crouch began to speak again.

“The teams are as follows: Isadora Araya, Cedric Diggory and James Waters. Guiying Ma, Kamali Bigombe and Akihiko Higasho. Gang Pan, Dimitry Vasnetsov and Harry Potter-Black.Fleur Delacour, Ignazio Rossi, Harald Normundson.”

A few members of his audience began muttering as their partners were announced.

“The task will happen during the afternoon of the twentieth. That is all you are to know.”

“So, what do you think?” Cedric asked Harry curiously as they sat together in the Blackleprickle common room later that afternoon.

“Of my teammates? Gang Pan isn’t as good as the girl from Xi-Xo-An. I hope he’s strong enough not be a liability. He certainly shouldn’t be a threat in the points. Dimitry is a contender, but doesn’t seem like much of a team player.”

Cedric nodded.

“James seems friendly.” He commented of the boy from Maston Academy, who was the only champion remaining from either of the North American schools. “At least Isadora seems pragmatic enough to work with the team.”

“But she’ll also be trying to gather as many points as possible at your expense.” Harry warned him.

Cedric gave a dirty smirk that Harry couldn’t help but find incredibly attractive. “And I’ll be returning the favour.”

* * *

“Harry!”

He grinned at his aunt as she swept over to embrace him.

“What are you doing here?” She asked, pulling back to look at him searchingly.

“Well, primarily to see you, of course.” He replied, “But I also wanted to speak to Granny.”

She nodded.

“Come sit down.” She said, leading him through the newly renovated hallway of her home in muggle London. “Bippy.” She called, looking slightly uncomfortable, to Harry’s amusement.

A house elf in an immaculately pressed tea towel toga popped into existence next to her chair. She bowed low to Harry before turning back to Aunt Mim.

“Some refreshments, please. And would you tell her ladyship that her grandson’s here?”

The elf bowed to both of them in turn before disappearing.

“You look happy.” Harry’s aunt said consideringly, eyes playing over his face intently.

“I am.” He agreed immediately, smiling easily. “I love school, my friends…”

“The tournament?” She asked, lips twitching.

He shrugged unapologetically.

“Yes. I didn’t enter myself, but I can’t deny that I’m enjoying being a part of it.”

“Do you know what the next task will be?” She asked curiously, accepting a cup of tea from Tippy.

“The organisers spoke to us yesterday. We’re in random teams and have to work together to achieve some kind of objective. The slowest team gets thrown out and within the remaining teams we’re all given individual scores.”

His aunt’s lips quirked in amusement.

“I note you group yourself with the survivors?”

Harry grinned.

“Is there really any doubt?”

“Not much in London.”

“Granny!”

Dorea rolled her eyes good-naturedly as she received and returned the embrace of her grandson.

“It’s good to see you, Harry.”

“I’m glad you feel that way.”

His grandmother seated herself and quickly got down to business.

“I take it you’d like to know about the Second Task?”

“Am I so obvious?”

“Usually. Anyway, I have nothing.”

“Nothing?”

Harry identified a faint note of frustration in the set of his grandmother’s face.

“The British Ministry has had almost nothing to do with this next task. As I understand it the American ministries were given responsibility, and they’re being remarkably tight-lipped about the whole affair.”

Harry frowned.

“Well, I suppose the four schools only have three champions left between them, so I can understand them being a little bitter.”

Dorea chuckled.

“Oh, you have no idea. They’ve launched an internal enquiry at Ilvermorny to try and work out why both of their champions lost out in the first round. The Brazilians are upset to the point that their government has sent inspectors to every school in the country.”

“Isadora goes to Castelobruxo, and she’s one of the top contenders.” Harry objected.

Dorea nodded.

“She does, and she is. However, she only transferred to Castelobruxo at the start of this year so that she could enter the tournament.”

“So the Brazilians don’t know whether to be happy they have a strong competitor, or furious that their own students have lost out to a transfer student from Chile?”

“Exactly.”

“I never knew a school competition could involve so much international politics.” Aunt Mim mused.

“Oh, this is just a minor aside, my dear.” Dorea assured her. “Plans for the tournament were delayed for nearly a decade whilst countries fought for the honour of hosting it. Apparently Britain had to let China have the Olympics next year to secure it.”

“Magical Olympics?”

Dorea looked slightly confused.

“There are muggle Olympics?”

* * *

“Voldemort.”

“Voldemort.” Dorea repeated succinctly.

Harry arched a brow.

"Well, have you managed to find anything out?" He asked.

His grandmother frowned.

"Either a large amount, or very little.” She began. “Depending on your perspective. There’s just too much happening at the moment, too much that doesn’t make sense, to work out whether anything specific is particularly significant.”

Harry let out a short, frustrated breath.

“That’s what I feared. But things are happening?"

His grandmother nodded immediately.

“Oh yes. I’ve lived through three wars, and this smells just like the start of all the others.”

“The Death Eaters at the World Cup?”

“The Ministry didn’t manage to get anything from the two they captured before they were killed in their cells.”

“So the _Prophet_ was right about that, at least. It takes a lot of organisation to plan and get away with an attack like that.” Harry noted.

“It does. It’s worrying that I haven’t been able to find out anything more about it. There are powerful people running interference.”

Harry frowned.

“I just don’t understand the motivation behind the attack at the World Cup. It didn’t achieve anything. If Voldemort has returned, then it makes no sense for him to give up the advantage of that surprise in exchange for a couple of hundred random corpses.”

“What a charming turn of phrase you have.” Dorea Potter commented. “But you’re right, it doesn’t make sense. I suspect the attack was conducted by some rogue element or other. Neither a possibly reincarnated Dark Lord nor any of the powerful dark families would be stupid enough to organise it.”

“Then why arrange to have the prisoners killed? I can understand the people who organised the attack wanting them dead… but someone who can infiltrate the deepest cells of the Ministry and escape with impunity doesn’t sound like the same person who thinks burning down a campsite is an entertaining way to spend an evening.”

Dorea nodded.

“Which is why it doesn’t really make sense.”

“But the attack was isolated?” Harry asked. “There hasn’t been anything else?”

“Nothing so dramatic. An attack on Mad Eye Moody’s house a week before term began, the murder of a young woman in the employ of the Magical Creatures office at the Ministry. A Minister who seems to be dancing around the government like a puppet with the strings cut.”

Harry chuckled at the last analogy. It seemed Fudge hadn’t managed to find another financial backer to give him direction. Without any particular policies or philosophies of his own, it stood to reason that he would be struggling to decide what he wanted to do.

“I wouldn’t worry about Moody.” He commented. “The man seems to have made it to Hogwarts in terrifying shape.”

His grandmother smiled slightly, sipping her tea.

“Yes. I’ve been hearing a litany of complaints about him for the last few weeks from my friends. Apparently they don’t approve of their grandchildren witnessing Unforgivable curses and being shouted at constantly. I take it you haven’t been too scarred by the experience so far?”

“Not at all.” Harry said. “I think Mad Eye and I have come to an understanding: I practise constant vigilance and he attempts to terrify me marginally less frequently than the rest of his students.”

* * *

“So, tactics?” Harry asked when he thought the silence in the room was in danger of becoming awkward.

“We win.” Dimitry grunted from his position, stretched out in a chair that seem far too small for his rangy length.

Harry restrained himself from rolling his eyes. He’d sent notes to his two teammates for the Second Task, asking them to meet him in an abandoned classroom to discuss their approach. Neither of them had replied, but they’d both turned up at the appointed time and greeted him politely.

“I don’t know how we’re supposed to prepare when we do not know what we must do.” Gang said in English that was considerably more fluent and less accented than the Russian’s.The boy from Xi-Xo-An was short and skinny. He’d managed to make it through the First Task, just, but from what Harry had seen he didn’t think much of his skill. He was certainly nowhere near as talented as his female classmate, who’d managed to knock out three other competitors on her own in the arena.

“But we’re willing to work together, at least?” Harry asked. “It’s almost certainly going to be the case that they’ve made it impossible for a single person to complete the task without their teammates.”

Dimitry nodded shortly.

“Yes. We work together. You do not get in my way. We do fine.”

Gang glanced nervously at the Russian. Harry didn’t think there was any danger of him getting in the other boy’s way.

He managed to keep them in the room for about another five minutes discussing general strategies, which he thought was an impressive achievement bearing in mind none of them particularly liked each other or had much of any idea what the task would entail. Harry wondered whether any of the American competitors were better informed, but seeing as they would all be burdened by their own teams, and as Isadora looked to be the only serious competitor of the remaining three, he didn’t worry too much.

* * *

“So you’ve agreed to join us?” Harry asked, grinning at Tracey.

She blushed at him from her seat, but mirrored his expression.

“Yup. Slytherin was boring without Daphne and anyway, you guys get much better accommodation. I’m sharing Daphne’s bathroom, but I’ve taken part of the floor beneath hers and had the elves from home bring the furniture from my bedroom. I think Blaise will take the other half of my floor, but he’s taking some time to decide whether he actually wants to join.”

“Don’t worry. He will.” Daphne said calmly as she arrived at the bottom of the stairs and stepped into the common room, a couple of thick books under one arm. “He’s not going to stick around with Malfoy peacocking and running his mouth in the fourth year dormitory.”

“Do we know whether Liram’s asked Anthony and Padma?” Harry asked, pulling out a few sheets of arithmancy calculations he’d been working on.

“Is that schoolwork?” Daphne asked as she came and sat down at the table he was working at.

“No.” He replied, tapping his pen against the paper. “Just something I’ve been working on.”

She looked curiously at the papers upside down.

“Those look like spell diagrams.” She observed curiously.

“Yes.” Harry agreed. “I think I’m nearly there.” He said, examining his work.

“What are you trying to do?” She asked, making no move to open her own books as the door to the common room swung open and Liram came in.

“Design a spell that allows me to render someone unconscious and then control their body.”

“You’re what?” Daphne exclaimed, losing most of her iron composure.

“Harry.” Liram said, looking over at him, deadpan. “That’s definitely illegal.”

“How can a spell that doesn’t exist yet be illegal?” Harry asked.

“Umm, if you invented a spell that just happened to tear people’s tongues out, using it would definitely be illegal.” Liram pointed out.

“But I’m not going to be tearing anyone’s tongue out.” Harry pointed out innocently. “Besides, I never said I was actually going to _use_ the spell.”

“So you’re just creating a slight variation of the _imperius_ curse for your own private amusement?” Daphne asked.

“Well, I suppose when you put it like that it does sound a little questionable.”

“A little questionable?” Daphne replied. “It sounds like a life-sentence in Azkaban to me.”

“I doubt it will come to that.” Harry said breezily. “The Triwizard Tournament bans spells on the basis of laws written before the foundation of the Ministry. I’ve checked, and what I’m trying to do shouldn’t contravene any of those regulations.”

“You want to use this spell in the tournament?” Tracey asked, sounding a mixture of curious and horrified.

“Maybe.” Harry replied. He’d told the three of them all the information he’d been given about the Second Task. “If Gang Pan becomes a dead weight, as I suspect he might, then I’m going to have to have a way to drag him along. I’m not really sure whether using the _imperius_ would be against the rules, but seeing as my spell doesn’t actually influence the mind of the target, just the body, I should be safe.”

“Is this really necessary?” Daphne asked distastefully.

“I don’t know.” Harry said honestly. “But Cedric’s had three ‘very productive’ meetings with his teammates, whereas I’ve barely managed to persuade mine not to sabotage each other. If I’m going to go through, then I’m going to have to take steps to protect myself.”

“By attacking your teammates.”

“If that’s what it takes.”


	18. International Magical Cooperation

_“Avada Kedavra!”_

Harry blinked. The sickly green afterimage of the curse remained, hot and glowing behind his eyelids as Professor Moody looked up at the class. He seemed perversely delighted by the shocked expressions that faced him.

“The Killing Curse.” He growled. “Clean, painless, beautiful in its own special way.”

“Beautiful, professor?” Hermione Granger exclaimed from the front row, sounding appalled.

His brutally scarred face split into the rictus of a smile as he stared at her.

“Miss Granger, if you ever come to know more of arithmancy, you will begin to understand the beauty beneath the cruelty, the poetry behind the great black veil.” The professor’s voice had softened, becoming almost reverent. “A spell is a tool, shaped to a purpose, and the Killing Curse is a masterpiece of magic. Think of it. The spark of life, the thing that animates each and every one of us, the thing that makes us think and breathe and fight and love. Snuffed out. Cut away. Identified and excised by a single pull of power.”

Harry couldn’t see Hermione’s face, but he suspected by the set of her shoulders that she was looking horrified. He was more than a little discomforted himself. He had seen people die, heard their screams as the camp ground at the Quidditch World Cup burned down around them. He wrestled almost every night with vague images of a hard green light and a black, hooded figure silhouetted by the glow. Death was bad, was horrific, anathema. And yet Moody made it sound almost seductive, the act, the spell, the release.

He found the professor’s eyes fixed on him, both the mortal and the magical.

“Only one person has ever managed to survive it. Has managed to defeat the curse. He’s sitting in this room.”

Every head in the room craned towards him, and he didn’t know how to respond.

_Why are you doing this?_ He thought, warily returning Moody’s gaze.

“A mystery.” The man murmured, twitching his stubby wand in one hand, as though tempted to see whether Harry could repeat his feat.

“Remarkable, really.” Moody continued, stumping up between the rows of desks to look down at Harry. A gnarled hand landed on his shoulder, and Harry barely resisted jumping under the impact. “To truly stare death in the face and win.”

* * *

The Blackleprickle table in the Great Hall had ended up shoved off to one side, sitting between the sections occupied by Ravenclaw and Gryffindor. It was only for the evening meal that houses were actually expected to dine separately, but aside from the odd breakfast Harry, Liram and Daphne had taken at the Ravenclaw or Slytherin tables, the three of them sat alone. It caused something of a stir, then, when Tracey Davis, Blaise Zabini, Anthony Goldstein and Padma Patil walked over to join the three of them one evening.

It was the middle of December, and the Great Hall’s enchanted ceiling had been fluttering snow for most of the previous few days; heavy, drifting flakes that vanished into nothing just above the students’ heads. Apparently the magic hadn’t been adjusted for the greater height of the high table, so the teachers ate with snow accumulating on their hair and in their food. Only Professor Dumbledore seemed to be enjoying the climate at the far end of the hall, merrily catching snowflakes on his spoon and licking them off with the appearance of great enjoyment.

“Will they stop staring?” Harry heard Anthony ask Liram in a low voice, looking nervously at the surrounding tables.

Liram shrugged.

“Probably, after a few days. I think most of them are wondering how they get to join us.”

Harry wasn’t sure how he felt about the new arrivals. He didn’t mind them, as people, and he couldn’t deny that having the Blackleprickle table just over half full for once made it seem less isolated, but he’d enjoyed it when it had just been the three of them. Of course, it had been him who pressed for the additions, but that was mainly because he knew that Blackleprickle needed members if it was to outlive his own years at Hogwarts. And yet all he could do was sit there and wish that it was Cedric who had joined them instead. He hadn’t asked the question. He knew, much as he had said to Daphne, that Cedric was loyal to his house, and that the Hufflepuffs would take the defection of their champion as an act of mortal betrayal. He also didn’t think he would be able to keep his hands off Cedric were he to sit next to him at every mealtime.

He piled his plate with chicken and steamed vegetables. It was a weekday, and so he would not allow himself to indulge. He’d spent the whole day sitting quietly at the back of his classes and working on his new spell. It wasn’t progressing as quickly as he’d hoped, and really he needed a human subject to test it on once he’d worked out the final bits of the theory.

“Are you ok?”

Harry smiled back reassuringly at Daphne’s concerned expression, dragging himself from his thoughts. Her hand was resting on his sleeve.

“What do you think about inviting some of the students from the other schools to eat with us?" He asked. If no one else was going to push the international magical cooperation agenda, he might as well give it a go himself.

“That sounds like a good idea." Daphne agreed, still examining him carefully. ‘Did you have anyone in particular in mind?’

“Well, Fleur," Harry began, thinking, “she’s my date for the Yule Ball so I should probably get to know her a little better.”

Daphne’s eyes flashed, and for a moment she looked almost upset, but a neutral expression quickly recurtained her face.

"A clever choice.” She acknowledged. “Her father is very powerful in France."

Harry wondered whether Daphne was deliberately choosing to ignore the other girl’s more physical charms.

“He is. He is not, however, the easiest man to deal with.” Harry could still remember the disapproving expression Sebastian Delacour had fixed on him when he’d danced with his daughters the summer before last. He had not even turned thirteen, and still the man had loomed over his prized offspring as though he had expected the well-spoken foreigner to run away with one of them at any moment. Then, of course, he had not known who Harry was, but somehow Harry doubted that knowledge of his name would assuage the man’s concerns.

“I have not met him.” Daphne admitted. She glanced at him. “Perhaps I could invite Ignazio to dine with us one evening as well.”

“The Casa Raffaello champion?” Harry asked curiously. He hadn’t been aware the Daphne knew the handsome Italian, who had revealed rather a lot of himself in the First Task and was the only remaining contender from his school.

“Yes. He’s two years older than us, I think, but his parents are friends with Blaise’s mother, and I’ve met them several times at her estate in Italy.”

Harry nodded, unsurprised. The European elite stuck together, and he knew that Daphne’s father had business ties to the continent.

“I know a couple of other girls at Beauxbatons who are here,” she added, “although they’re only the year above us and I don’t think they put their names into the goblet.”

“Cool. Maybe I can invite Viktor over from Bulgaria for a few days.” Harry added thoughtfully.

“Viktor?” Liram asked, turning in his seat to join their conversation.

“Krum, you know, the Bulgarian seeker.” Harry clarified unnecessarily. Liram looked impressed, Daphne genuinely put out.

“How on earth have you spent your entire life on the run and still ended up knowing more people than I do?” She asked.

Harry shrugged.

“I don’t know. Viktor’s father tutored me for a while and we went flying together. I think he was supposed to be one of the Durmstrang competitors in the tournament but decided he couldn’t take a year out, what with being in his last year of school as well as one of the world’s best quidditch players.”

* * *

“Yes, Mr Potter-Black?” Professor Flitwick called, smiling over at him from where he was standing on top of his desk.

“I’m sorry to interrupt your lesson, professor,” Harry began politely, “but I was hoping you’d let me borrow Cedric. Champions’ business.” He clarified when Flitwick raised a curious eyebrow.

“Of course, of course, take him!” The professor replied, smiling and shooing Cedric out of the room to a chorus of mocking bows and salutes from his classmates. Cedric grinned sheepishly as he grabbed his bag and walked out, but his smile became wide and genuine as his eyes met Harry’s in the corridor.

“Hey, what’s up?” He asked, glancing around quickly before leaning in and giving Harry a brief kiss.

Harry, slightly dazed, smirked back playfully and began to walk, Cedric hastening after him.

“Is this about the Second Task?”

“Nope.” Harry replied cheerfully.

“Do they want to weigh our wands again?” Cedric asked suggestively.

“I’m sure they want you to get your wand out again,” Harry replied, smirking again, “but I don’t think I want to let them.”

They stepped onto a flight of stairs that Harry set grinding down towards the entrance hall with a twist of his will.

“Don’t worry, my wand is all yours.” Cedric purred against his ear.

Harry blushed and turned to find Cedric looking mildly horrified.

“Merlin, I just said that to a fourteen year old.” He said, eyes wide.

Harry caught one of his hands and squeezed it.

“Well, you’d better not be saying it to anyone else.” He said, grinning and releasing his boyfriend as the staircase shuddered to a halt and he headed towards the entrance doors.

“Where are we going?” Cedric asked, casting a warming charm on both himself and Harry as they set out across the castle grounds. A couple of inches of snow had fallen during the night, and the air was crisp and still as the powder crunched beneath their feet.

“To the lake.”

“The lake.” Cedric echoed. “Umm, is that where the Second Task is taking place?”

Harry actually considered the notion for a moment before discarding it.

“I doubt it. How would anyone watching see anything?”

“Then why are we here? Are we going to the Durmstrang ship?”

“No.” Harry replied, stopping and turning to Cedric with a serious expression. “There is no tournament business.”

Cedric blinked.

“No tournament…?” His voice trailed off.

“Well, none that I’m aware of.” Harry clarified, pulling an enchanted blanket from his own bag and flicking his basilisk wand to spread it out on a stretch of ground in front of the lake. The thick cream cloth unfolded itself and hovered a millimetre above the snow, insulating itself from the cold and not disturbing a single flake.

Harry sat down and gestured for Cedric to do the same.

“I just wanted to spend some time with you.” He explained, slightly nervous now. “Out in the open, in the daylight.” The exigencies of their relationship meant that they could only really see one another late in the evenings in the Blackleprickle common room, after Harry’s housemates had gone to bed. He supposed that with new housemates their time together was likely to become even more limited.

“You pulled me out of class to go on a date.” Cedric said slowly, sounding disbelieving.

“Umm, yeah.” Harry replied, feeling even more on edge. “I figured that it was only when everyone was in class that we could be pretty sure that no one was going to see us out here.” He paused and cast a quick disillusionment charm over the two of them, just in case.

He’d barely finished the wand movement before Cedric was on him, his weight shoving him back into the blanket as he kissed him. Harry responded eagerly, flooded with relief that Cedric didn’t seem too put out with him, before his boyfriend pulled back, straddling his waist.

“Only you,” Cedric said, laughing. “Only you,” he repeated, leaning in again for another kiss.

“You’re not upset?” Harry asked, smiling now.

Cedric smirked.

“Well, you might have to teach me how to give a teacup legs if you don’t want Flitwick to be upset with me.”

Harry looked at him incredulously.

“OWL Charms is giving teacups legs?”

Cedric shrugged.

“Well, some of it, according to Flitwick. Maybe he just likes his tea being able to come to him.”

“He’d be better off giving his cups wings, then.” Harry suggested. “They could fly up to his mouth and he wouldn’t need to move at all.”

Cedric nodded thoughtfully, though his lips twitched as he glanced down at Harry, still lying contentedly beneath him.

“That’s not a bad idea for the coursework, actually. It would be much more complicated that the standard charm.”

“Yeah, and if the examiner doesn’t like it you could just charm your teacup to dump its contents on his head.” Harry suggested.

Cedric chuckled, before rolling off Harry and dropping to the blanket next to him. They lay in silence for a while and stared at the thick winter clouds scudding across a wan blue sky.

“Our first date.” Cedric said after a while, and Harry felt his warm hand brush against his. “I feel I should have got you something.”

“Like what?” Harry asked, amused. “Some flowers, a bottle of wine?”

“I was thinking more along the lines of the head of one of your enemies.” Cedric suggested lightly.

Harry laughed.

“That would have been thoughtful gift.” He paused. “You know, I didn’t bring you anything either, even though I decided to do this.”

Cedric turned his head towards him on the blanket, grey eyes alive with amusement.

“Did you actually plan this in advance?”

Harry pretended to look guilty.

“Not really. I was just sitting in Muggle Studies, being bored to death by Worthing, thinking I’d much rather be with you.”

“And so you decided you’d go and get me.” Cedric finished.

“Be grateful I didn’t take you back to Muggle Studies with me. I told Worthing I was just going to the loo.”

Cedric shrugged.

“He probably thinks Morning Myrtle’s murdered you.”

“Moaning Myrtle?”

“She’s a ghost in one of the girls’ bathrooms on the second floor.” Cedric explained. “She was a student here, but no one knows how she died, and she just hovers round one of the toilets crying all day.”

Harry couldn’t help but feel a little sorry for the girl.

“I’ll definitely be avoiding her bathroom, then.” He replied. Disturbing traumatised ghosts was not something he was particularly eager to do.

“Probably wise.” Cedric advised. “Are you ready?”

Harry didn’t need to ask to know what he was talking about. The Second Task was only three full days away now, and he still had no idea what it was going to involve. Thankfully, the rumour going round the school seemed to be that everyone else was just as clueless as he was.

“I hope so.” He replied, considering the question. “I hate not knowing anything about what we’re going to face, but I’m pretty confident I can adapt.” He saw no particular reason to be modest with Cedric; he was confident, and he wanted to be honest.

His boyfriend stared at him.

“You’re fourteen. How the fuck are you not terrified?”

Harry looked back at him.

“Are you scared?” He asked, genuinely curious. In truth, Harry wasn’t terrified. He supposed that he probably should be, for the Triwizard Tournament had been notorious for the regularity of its fatalities in the past, but the risks just seemed to excite him. If he was honest, he was more concerned about Cedric than himself, not because he doubted his skills, but because he cared. He tried not to think about the implication that he worried less for his own wellbeing.

“A little.” Cedric admitted. “I think we’re as well prepared as we can be, but who knows what might turn up? James and Isadora seem to have no idea what we’re going to be up against, and it's the American ministries that have organised the task!” He exclaimed.

Harry reflected that Cedric’s frustration with the unknown was rather like his own. Harry was probably just a bit more arrogant about dealing with it. It was kind of reassuring to have yet another confirmation that everyone seemed to be clueless, though.

“Well, with you and Isadora on the same team I’m sure you won’t have any trouble.” Harry reassured him honestly. From what he’d seen Cedric and the Chilean girl were probably two of the favourites for the title.

Cedric snorted.

“Like you and Dimitry are going to struggle either. That guy looks like he would murder anyone who got in his way.”

“That’s why I’m going to keep out of it.”

“Good.” Cedric replied softly, reaching out to run a tender hand through Harry’s hair. “I noticed you seemed to be expanding your new house last night.” He commented.

“Yeah. Liram and Daphne suggested a few people who might fit in.”

“Hufflepuff was wondering what they had to do to join.”

“Liram thought everyone would be.” Harry commented. “I don’t really know if we have admissions criteria.”

“Who did you tell the sorting hat to let in?” Cedric asked curiously.

“Interesting people.”

Cedric stared at him.

“You’re serious?”

“Why wouldn’t I be? I don’t want to live with boring people.” Harry replied innocently.

“You created the first new house in a thousand years just so you could avoid dull conversations?” Cedric asked, lips twitching.

“Something like that.” Harry answered, playing along. Cedric knew the real reason, of course, but if Harry had known that Blackleprickle would have helped to keep him away from Malfoy and Weasley then he’d probably have negotiated with the hat anyway.

“I was thinking of hosting a party.” Harry commented after a while.

Cedric turned his head back towards him, lifting an eyebrow.

“A party?”

“Yeah. After the Yule Ball.” He clarified.

“But it’s not supposed to finish until midnight.” Cedric pointed out.

Harry looked back at him innocently.

“All the best parties start at midnight.”

“I’m not sure McGonagall is gonna share your opinion on that.” Cedric replied, grinning.

“Maybe not. But I’m sure Professor Slughorn won’t mind, and he’s in charge of Blackleprickle.”

“Who were you planning to invite?”

“Well, no one under fourth year, probably. A few people from each year above that in each house, and some from the other schools, of course. No one over eighteen.”

“So you’re holding a massive party on school grounds without adult supervision.” Cedric summarised.

“And with alcohol.” Harry added.

Cedric’s head dropped back against the blanket and he covered his eyes with his forearm and groaned.

“You realise I’m a prefect?”

“Wait, fuck, you’re a prefect?” Harry asked, sitting upright and looking down at him, eyes wide. “I had no idea! Let me kneel at your feet! Kiss your arse! Throw my underwear at you!”

Cedric lifted his arm and opened his eyes.

“Fuck off.” He replied, though he couldn’t help but grin slightly. “I’m not sure what prefects are supposed to do if students start throwing their underwear at us.”

“But you do know what you’re supposed to do if they start kissing your arse?” Harry asked curiously.

Cedric smirked back.

“Let them?”

Harry growled slightly and rolled over on top of his boyfriend.

“Only me.” He told him, leaning in for a kiss.

“Only you.” Cedric agreed when they broke apart.

* * *

“Excellent, Mr Potter-Black! I shall have to set you some more advanced work.” Professor McGonagall declared as she leant over to examine the fluffy black rabbit sitting quietly on his desk. A few moments earlier it had been a chicken, and Harry was debating which form it seemed happiest in.

“How do you make sure you get rid of all the feathers?” Liram hissed from next to him, tapping his wand irritably against their desk and examining his own rabbit, which still had a few suspiciously white and downy looking strands scattered about its glossy fur.

“Stop thinking about chickens.” Harry advised him, stabbing his own wand at Liram's rabbit to vanish the feathers. With another brief wave he returned the creature to its previous life as poultry.

“It’s kind of difficult to stop thinking about chickens when you’re in a classroom full of them and there’s a massive cockerel on the table in front of you.” Liram pointed out, which Harry thought was a fair point.

“Well, look at my rabbit when you do it.” He suggested, running a finger through the creature’s soft fur.

Liram nodded and stared intently at the rabbit as he pointed his wand at the indignant looking cockerel in front of him. It seemed about to attack him, but before it could do more than mantle its wings it disappeared.

Liram looked triumphantly at the big brown rabbit that sat on the desk in front of him, which seemed confused.

“Well done, Mr Shafiq! I shall have to give you nearly full marks for that.” McGonagall declared.

“Nearly, professor?” Liram asked, looking a little put out.

“Your rabbit looks remarkably like Mr Potter-Black’s.” She commented, which Liram couldn’t really deny, although how on earth McGonagall became an expert at comparing different coloured rabbits Harry had no idea.

* * *

“You’re taking it more seriously this time, I see.” Daphne commented as Harry came down the staircase and entered the common room. He was kind of touched to find her and Liram waiting for him; he’d expected the pair of them to have disappeared off to join the spectators for the Second Task ages ago.

“Yeah, well, I have no idea what it’s going to be so I thought I’d better take precautions.” Harry admitted, checking the straps of the black dragonhide duelling gear he’d donned for the occasion.

“Well.” He began after a moment of silence, glancing at the grandfather clock standing against the wall. “I suppose we’d better go.”

They both nodded and stood, following him to the door. The walk through the castle and across the grounds to the same stadium that had hosted the First Task took place in silence. Liram and Daphne didn’t want to break Harry’s focus, and Harry was too full of adrenaline to make conversation.

The first hint of unease stirred in the pit of his stomach as they came into sight of the champions’ tent just outside the arena. Daphne and Liram both hugged and left him. Harry lifted the flap and stepped inside. It felt emptier than before, but then Harry supposed there were only half as many champions left. It looked like everyone else was there already, and Harry wanted to walk over and join Cedric, but he could see he was huddled with his two teammates and he knew he shouldn’t interrupt them. Besides, he could see Dimitry and Gang standing next to one another.

“Ready?” He asked, grinning as convincingly as he could as he joined them.

“I am.” Dimitry replied, giving him a short nod. Gang tried a smile, but he looked as though he was about to be sick.

They stood there awkwardly. Harry sort of wanted to talk, but he didn’t think he was going to get much out of Dimitry, and thought that Gang was likely to throw up on him if he tried to speak.

“Good afternoon champions!”

Gang jerked upright with alarm as Ludo Bagman announced his presence. A few seconds later he arrived inside the tent, trailing Lord Crouch and a couple of nondescript looking wizards in heavy robes.

“Gather round, gather round.” Crouch instructed peremptorily. He waited until they were assembled, the four groups of three clustered together in a loose semicircle in front of him. “As you might be aware, our American colleagues have been responsible for the organisation of this task, and so I am introducing you to Diego Arizmendi, the head of Peru’s Department of International Affairs, and Cuthbert Dandridge, the Senior Attache to the United States’ Overseas Magic Unit.

At his nod the two men stepped forwards.

“The Second Task,” the Peruvian guy began in slightly accented English, “is an exercise in skill and teamwork. The arena you will be familiar with, but at its centre you will now find a glass box, fifteen metres square. Your task, as a team, is to retrieve these.” Here he paused and reached a hand into his robes to draw out a small cloth bag. He shook it over a table he conjured with a lazy wave of his free hand.

Harry stared at the ball that rolled across the gleaming surface.

“It’s a snitch.” Someone observed. The Peruvian smiled.

“Just so.” He shook the bag again and two more metallic objects fell out. The snitches were identical, save that one was gold in colour, another silver, and the third copper.

“Before you enter the box, each of you will have a pouch tied around your neck. Its colour will correspond to the colour of one of the snitches you will find flying around inside.”

“So we have to catch th—” The Italian champion, Ignazio, began.

“Have patience and you will find out.” Arizmendi said sharply, breaking him off. “Your aim is to place each snitch in the pouch whose colour it shares. Once all of the snitches have been gathered, you have completed the task. You will be timed, and the slowest team is automatically eliminated. The remaining nine will continue in the tournament, but you will all be given an individual score for your performances today, which will affect you in the future.”

“It’s that simple?” Ignazio asked, looking slightly disbelieving. The other man, Dandridge, smiled at him grimly.

“Not quite.” He replied. “There are no brooms allowed, of course.” He paused. “I should also tell you that we believe each of the snitches has been subjected to certain… experiments.”

“Experiments?” Ignazio asked.

“You mean they’ve been cursed?” Isadora asked, looking singularly unimpressed.

“Perhaps. I cannot say more than warn you that they would not be used for a game of quidditch. Oh, and only once they are in their pouches will they return to normal.”

“Do you have any questions?” Arizmendi asked shortly. “Good.” He said when no-one replied. “Each team will be taken into the arena one by one, and I will be remaining here to ensure that none of you have a chance to talk to one another or make plans. From this point onwards, no speaking is allowed.

Crouch stepped back up.

“The first team will be Guiying Ma, Kamali Bigombe and Akihiko Higasho. Follow me.” The group in question trailed obediently after Crouch and Dandridge.

“Harry, could I have a word?”

Harry looked at Bagman, a little startled at being singled out. The big man looked slightly on edge. Arizmendi stared at them disapprovingly, but made no comment as they left the tent.

“What can I do for you, Mr Bagman?” He asked politely when the two of them were stood perhaps thirty feet away. Harry could hear the roar of the crowd from inside the stands as they caught sight of the first group of champions.

“Umm, well, it’s sort of the other way round,” Bagman replied awkwardly, scratching the back of his bristly head with one hand, “I just wanted to ask if you, well, if you wanted a clue?”

“A clue?” Harry asked, not really sure what was going on.

“Yeah, like a hint about what the, umm, snitches might do…” Bagman dangled awkwardly.

Harry blinked at him, wondering why on earth the man was trying to offer him help. He also couldn’t help but think this was a trap, though Bagman didn’t really seem the type.

“Umm, no thanks.” He answered. “I think I’ll be fine.” He turned his back on the man and returned to the tent before he could respond. The other champions eyed him suspiciously as he entered, but none of them dared to speak.

The wait was agonising. The tent was heavily draped with muffling charms, but there was only so much they could do to block out the roars of a crowd twenty thousand strong. When Crouch entered the tent again Harry couldn’t have said whether five minutes or half an hour had passed.

“Cedric Diggory, Isadora Araya, James Waters.” He announced without preamble. Harry’s throat was dry as he watched Cedric stand up, and even the sight of his boyfriend moving like a great sleek cat in his tight, dark duelling leathers did little to distract him.

He tried to smile back as Cedric turned and winked at him just before he stepped outside, but the nerves returned as soon as the tent flap fell back into place. Every noise from the crowd, every gasp and scream and collective exhalation echoed round his skull until at last he heard a great cheer rise up and let go of the breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding. Cedric was safe.

It was in an almost serene frame of mind, then, that he watched Crouch return and pull the third team after him, Fleur’s shapely leather-clad rear disappearing from view.

“Harry Potter-Black, Dimitry—” Crouch’s words barely sank in as Harry followed him, forcing his mind to become clear and still. It felt strange, suddenly, to have to work with two other people, people he didn’t really know and couldn’t necessarily trust.

If he’d thought the crowd was loud from inside the tent, the noise when they stepped into the stadium itself hit him like a blow to the chest. The sky was clear and blue, and though the sand on the ground was free of snow the air was bitingly cold. The great glass cube reared up in the centre of the stadium, a box that grew and grew as they approached until it seemed like an impossibly vast container for three tiny, flying balls.

_A quidditch pitch is much larger._ Harry was forced to remind himself. His gaze couldn’t help but keep darting around the inside of the box as an official came up and tied a tiny pouch around his neck with a leather cord. He glanced down briefly.

_Silver._

“Not so tight—” He heard Gang’s voice say to his left, sounding thin. The official attending to him nodded briefly and adjusted the cord before stepping back.

“And our final set of champions is about to enter the arena!” He heard Bagman boom. The crowd cheered, but they were just a blur of colour to Harry now.

“Ready?” Dandridge asked, giving them a steely smile.

“Yes.” Harry replied, as Dimitry said “Of course,” and Gang offered a cautious nod.

The American wizard waved his wand, and a panel perhaps six feet square on the side of the box began to shimmer.

“Step through when you are ready. Your time begins as soon as the first of you enters.” He left them, and soon it was only the three of them and the box on the huge sprawl of sand.

“We go.” Dimitry declared, and stepped through without hesitation. Harry followed, and he could feel Gang just behind him.

The air inside was still, and much warmer. Harry could not hear the crowd, or Bagman, or anything other than the gentle whir of wings.

“Copper first.” Dimitry said. Harry saw that that was the colour of the pouch around his neck. He didn’t bother arguing; if they failed to gather the snitches quickly then it wouldn’t matter what order they’d attempted to capture them in.

Harry flicked a powerful, wordless summoning charm at the copper snitch he could see beating itself against the glass wall a few feet above their heads. He was unsurprised when it shrugged it off. He could feel his magic run over its tiny, gleaming surface, unable to find purchase. Before he could attempt anything else, Dimitry had stabbed his heavy staff upwards and a fine net of gleaming metal span out of it. Harry watched, impressed, as it wrapped around the snitch and dragged it to the ground, pinning it to the sand.

Harry and Dimitry approached it cautiously. Gang Pan hovered behind them, eyes nervously flicking between the two remaining snitches whizzing above their heads.

Dimitry crouched down in front of his net, murmuring words in a strange tongue that Harry assumed were designed to detect enchantments.

“There is something.” He declared after a while. “You can break curses?” He asked Harry. He did not bother looking at Gang.

“Maybe,” Harry replied, casting a brief diagnostic spell of his own at the snitch, still struggling pathetically against its bindings. “But that looks far too complicated to untangle in less than an hour or so. It feels like some kind of transfiguration to me.” He added.

Dimitry nodded and seemed to steel himself.

“Yes.” Before Harry could do anything to stop him, he reached out and tapped the tiny copper ball with the butt of his staff.

Nothing happened for a second, and then chaos broke loose. The fine net that had bound the snitch to earth disappeared in a shimmer of sparks as a huge creature burst up out of it, snapping and snarling.

Harry flung up a heavy shield in front of Dimitry as the tall Russian reared back and raised his staff defensively.

“Manticore.” Dimitry growled out, staring down the beast. It had the face of a man distorted by rage, with canines that were at least two inches long and a great mane of copper coloured hair. The creature had the body of a lion, but it was the size of a donkey and its fur shone with magic. The most terrifying thing, though, was the great black scorpion’s tail that arched over its back, dripping liquid that Harry could see fizzing in the sand as the creature beat itself against his shield. It was immensely strong, and Harry could feel its blows echoing through his wand and arm like the beatings of a sledgehammer against rock. His pale wall of magic held, but rippled with every impact.

“Drop it. I ready.” Dimitry instructed. Harry didn’t look at him, but the certainty in the older boy’s tone meant that he let the shield fall at once. Even as he did so, he heard a powerful hiss fill the air high above their heads, but he could not glance away because Dimitry had lunged forwards in the same moment as the huge beast.

Manticore and man met in a burst of magic, the creature’s vicious jaws snapping closed on empty air as Dimitry jerked to the side with shocking speed and span his staff. A moment later and it was done. Harry blinked as the huge furry head fell to the sand in a rush of blood and departed life. A click rang out and the dismembered body vanished, replaced once more by an exhausted-looking copper snitch lying in a pool of crimson liquid.

“Quickly.” Harry called, for he did not know whether the curse could recharge itself.

Dimitry nodded, and as he bent down to pick up his prize Harry noticed that the bottom two feet of his staff had transformed into a blade of rippled metal that look sharp enough to cut air. They had no time to breath a sigh of relief as Dimitry shoved the copper snitch into the pouch at his neck and pulled the drawstring tight, for the steady hissing above their heads was growing in intensity and Harry could suddenly hear Gang choking somewhere behind him.

The air that filled the cube was no longer clear, but filling rapidly with ash-pale smoke. The greater part of it seemed to be hovering above their heads, but Harry could see it creeping down the walls like a cloud of doom. A glance to the far corner found Gang on his knees, wrestling with a delicate spiral of mist that had descended from above to wrap itself around him.

Harry threw a Bubble-Head charm at the boy before crouching down himself and concentrating on the mist. He reached out with his magic, trying to get a sense of it, but it slipped like oil away from the tendrils of his power.

“Do something.” Dimitry demanded. Harry could see that, for the first time, the Russian looked alarmed. He was still standing, and his head was surrounded by something that looked like a pale green version of the Bubble-Head, but Harry could see the mist now reaching its fingers down to him, and where it touched the barrier it hissed and spluttered like strong acid on flesh.

Harry could feel an alien sense of hopelessness rising at the back of his skull as he tried desperately to get a grasp on what the mist actually was.

_I don’t need to know._ He realised suddenly.

He reached out his wand and span it in a slow circular pattern, feeling his magic pull down his arm and pour invisibly out of the bone-white tip. After a moment his will caught hold, and he felt his wand begin to turn in his grasp, accelerating. The suddenly moving air in the box caught against his cheek, and he felt a surge of elation run through him as he sawsome of the mist attacking Dimitry’s spell curve away. He flooded more magic into his spell, and felt the air well up from the clear space near the ground, pushing up against the cloud.

It was fighting him now, and he could feel its weight settle like a millstone around his neck. He forced himself to his feet, which seemed to give his power some breath of momentum. The mist was giving way, and now Dimitry’s head was clear, the crowd was becoming visible beyond the glass and Gang was revealed unconscious upon the sand. Harry had no time for their fallen teammate though, for he knew that if his concentration broke then the mist would fall again. He forced the air to curve to his will, spinning the mist together into a small cyclone of darkening smoke. Once he felt he had it under his control, twisting as though propelled by its own rage, he searched the box. His eye caught on a flash of silver on the ground near Gang, and he pulled his newly tamed creature after him to find the second snitch, split in half to reveal a small clear crystal at its heart.

He had no idea what it was, but could sense that that was the mist’s source. It was a struggle to force it back into its home, like squeezing toothpaste back into a tube that was too small to fit all of it, toothpaste that would burn and choke on contact with flesh. At last, though, damp with sweat and with his wand arm vibrating under the strain, Harry forced the last drop of mist back into the stone. He reached down with his free hand and snapped the silver snitch closed, poking it into the pouch at his neck with trembling fingers.

“Good job.” Was all Dimitry said to him, crouched on the sound next to their teammate, a couple of fingers to the Chinese boy’s neck. “Alive.”

_“Enervate.”_

Gang’s eyes fluttered briefly, but otherwise Harry’s spell seemed to have no other effect. The tiny gold pouch at his neck shone like a taunt.

Harry hesitated. He hadn’t wanted to do this. In truth, he’d anticipated some kind of obstacle course, where if Gang Pan fell he could merely float the other boy behind him like a muggle on a stretcher. That would have been easy enough, uncontroversial enough. This would not be.

He cleared his mind and drew the warmth of his stretched magic back towards him.

_“Corporius Viribus.”_

The words were softly spoken, but the amount of power that left him in a rush made him stagger slightly. Dimitry jerked back, cursing, a second later, as Gang came alive under his grasp. The boy’s eyes jerked open unseeingly, staring into space above their heads.

Harry twitched his wand and watched uncomfortably as Gang Pan shambled after its direction, moving across the sand like a poorly controlled string-puppet.

_If I had a choice…_ He thought, steeling himself. He swished his wand sideways and flicked it upwards. Gang Pan jerked into the air like a particularly ungainly swan kicked suddenly by a passer-by.

Harry slowly guided him closer to the final snitch, barely visible beating itself against the glass ceiling high above their heads. A loose hand stretched out, fingers lax and curled. Harry jerked his victim away from the snitch as quickly as he could when he felt a brush of alien magic run through the spell that animated his teammate and back to him. Nothing seemed to happen for a moment. The golden snitch continued to tap and buzz against the glass, and Harry lowered Gang to the ground without incident.

Suddenly, it vanished. Or, at least, it seemed to vanish. Rapid cracking sounds began to emit from the huge glass panels of the walls and ceiling. Harry hastily cast a shield around himself as he realised what was happening. He didn’t want to think about what would happen should a tiny ball of metal that was probably travelling at several hundred miles an hour suddenly come into contact with part of him. He saw that Dimitry had had the same idea, and that the Russian, covered by his own barrier, was trying futilely to track the movement of the missile.

“What now?” Dimitry called, firing off a few stunning spells without much hope.

“We block it off, I think.” Harry decided. The odds of them hitting it directly with some kind of spell were close to nothing.

“How?”

Harry didn’t reply in words, but instead willed part of his shield to expand outwards, flattening and stretching until eventually it partitioned the cube into two. A moment’s observation told him that the snitch was now caught on the far side.

“Now you cut that half into half.” He directed. Dimitry nodded and dropped his own shield now that it was unnecessary, raising a heavy wall of magic that made Harry’s barrier look somewhat delicate by comparison. Now the snitch was caught in a quarter of the space it had once had.

“And we move in.”

They stepped forwards slowly. Harry curved his shield over so that it drew down from the ceiling as well, containing their prize in an ever-more confined box. He could feel the weight behind the impacts clanging against the inside of his shield as their captive beat against its prison. On the occasions it slammed against the floor it lifted a puff of sand that became more of a constant cloud as the box shrank and its impacts became more frequent.

“We’ve got it.” Dimitry grunted as the thick cloak of their combined magic eventually curled around the tiny sphere, crushing its wings against its body. Harry felt it jerk for a few more seconds and then still, defeated.

“I hold it. You get him.” The Russian said, jerking his head in Gang’s direction. Harry nodded and cast his spell again. He had to concentrate to get the fine motor control required to persuade the other boy’s hand to reach out and grasp the final snitch. He felt his body sag with relief as the drawstring tugged shut.


	19. Resistance

Harry felt slightly dazed as the glass box vanished around them and the sound of twenty thousand voices filled the freezing air. He and Dimitry stood in the centre of the arena, Gang slumped in a heap on the sand between them. The cheers went on and on, and Harry wasn’t quite sure how to respond. Did he wave? Bow? Smile modestly?

Luckily, before he could do more than contemplate his options, and stand there uncomfortably, a group of figures stepped out onto the sand and walked over to join them. When Harry caught sight of Cedric he found himself examining his boyfriend minutely for injuries. To he relief, he couldn’t see much. The other boy seemed to have a darkening bruise on his jaw, but he was walking easily and his duelling leathers seemed fairly unmarked. When Harry’s eyes rose he found Cedric staring at him as well. They exchanged a quick smile and looked hastily away from one another as Crouch came up and made sure the champions were standing in their teams. He eyed the boy slumped between Harry and Dimitry.

“Madame Pomfrey!” He called sharply.

Hogwarts’ matron, who’d trailed after the champions looking somewhat irate, marched over and crouched down next to Gang.

“The mist?” She asked briskly, glancing up at Harry.

He nodded.

“Yes. I think he inhaled it.”

Madame Pomfrey tutted disapprovingly and began running her wand over the boy’s neck, muttering, before pulling a vial of something that looked like double cream from the pocket of her apron and pouring it down his throat.

“ _Enervate!”_

Her attempt to rouse the Chinese champion had more effect than Harry’s. His eyes opened and he tried to groan, but it came out as more of a croak. One of his hands rose to clutch his throat and he coughed for a while as Madame Pomfrey continued prodding at him with her wand.

“He’s fine.” She declared eventually, before standing.

“You both feel fine?” She asked Harry and Dimitry.

They nodded. She swept a beady eye over the other champions

“They’ll all live for the next few hours, but I ask that you each visit me for a checkup in the next couple of days to make sure there are no lingering effects.” With that, she shoved her wand away and strode off.

Crouch clapped his hands together sharply.

“Champions! You will now hear the results of the task. Firstly, the times for each team will be announced, after which the scores for the remaining competitors will be given.”

He tipped his hat in the direction of the stands, which seemed to be a signal of some kind, as Ludo Bagman started shouting.

“Congratulations champions! A fine effort from all of you!” He paused as until the cheers died away. “Whilst the judges discuss their individual scores, I will announce the times for each team. The slowest will be removed from the tournament!”

He paused, and the shuffle of papers could be heard over the microphone. Harry held himself still, keeping his expression frozen. Whatever happened, there was nothing he could do now.

“Guiying Ma, Kamali Bigombe and Akihiko Higasho: sixteen minutes and fourteen seconds.” The crowd clapped. “Isadora Araya, Cedric Diggory and James Waters: nine minutes and fifty-one seconds.” The crowd cheered now, though whether it was because of the shorter time or because Cedric was from Britain Harry did not know. “Fleur Delacour, Ignazio Rossi, Harald Normundson: nineteen minutes and fifty-eight seconds.” Applause again, accompanied by an undercurrent of groans. When Harry glanced in Fleur’s direction he saw that she looked disappointed, though she tried to mask it. “Gang Pan, Dimitry Vasnetsov and Harry Potter-Black: eight minutes and four seconds, which means that Fleur Delacour, Ignazio Rossi and Harald Normundson are eliminated.”

Harry blinked, relief and elation bubbling in his chest as the crowd roared. The fastest time. By a margin of almost two minutes. His face relaxed into a broad grin, and when he turned to exchange a nod with Dimitry he saw that the surly Russian was smiling slightly as well. Gang was looking confused. Harry saw that Cedric and his teammates were hugging one another, and though the sight of his boyfriend wrapped in someone else’s arms lifted an instinctive swell of jealousy, he grinned back when he caught his eye over Isadora’s shoulder.

More moving paper could be heard over the microphone.

“And now the points. The champions have been judged by an international panel of impartial judges. The marks are out of fifty. Guiying Ma, thirty-eight. Kamali Bigombe, thirty-one. Akihiko Hagasho, thirty-six. Isadora Araya, forty-four. Cedric Diggory, forty-four. James Waters, thirty-five. Gang Pan, twelve. Dimitry Vasnetsov, forty-one. Harry Potter-Black…” Bagman paused and cleared his throat before continuing, “pending an investigation, forty-eight.”

_What?_ Harry wasn’t sure whether he was more startled by the score or the prospect of an investigation. Bagman was thanking the crowd for their support now and talking about when the date of the next task would be announced, but Harry barely heard him.

“The judges request that Mr Potter-Black present himself to the committee immediately.” Harry could hardly miss that, and before he had a chance to work out where on earth he was supposed to go, Lord Crouch was standing in front of him.

“Follow me, if you would.”

Harry trailed after him, glancing at a worried looking Cedric. He did not attempt to make conversation. He did not know what Crouch thought of him, but doubted he was considered kindly for publicly embarrassing the man over the Sirius affair. _Wanker deserved it._ He couldn’t help but think, even if he hadn’t been the main criminal.

The main criminal stood beaming at him just outside the stadium.

“Harry!” Headmaster Dumbledore exclaimed, lifting the arms of a turquoise robe that was by far the brightest thing in the rapidly darkening day.

“Good afternoon, headmaster,” he replied politely.

Dumbledore led Crouch and him into the champions’ tent, where they found half a dozen aurors under the command of a captain Harry didn’t recognise, and a group of expensively robed witches and wizards who were huddled together engaged in what looked like an argument.

They all looked up as Harry and his escorts came in, a mixture of expressions on their faces.

“I’m sorry, headmaster, I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave.” The captain of the aurors said, stepping in front of Dumbledore.

The headmaster blinked and twinkled merrily.

“But Harry here is my student,” he began, as though confused, “surely—“

“He does not need his headmaster defending him in a competition he has entered under his own name, and not as a member of his school. This is a nonpartisan inquiry and your being here is inappropriate.” A miserable-looking witch with a round face finished.

Dumbledore stared at her helplessly for a few moments, though Harry suspected he was merely trying to read the strength of the resistance arrayed against his presence. Eventually, he nodded and sighed.

“I will leave you, then.” He declared. He glanced around, as though expected someone to protest his departure. When no-one did, he exited the tent.

“Mr Potter-Black,” he witch who had got rid of Dumbledore continued, “please take a seat.”

Harry did so, feeling the sagging canvas of the fold-up chair creak beneath him.

“My name is Agnetha Roscoff, and I am a member of the International Wizarding Sports and Competitions Governing Body. You have been asked to join us because of your use of an unrecognised spell during the Second Task of the hundred and seventeenth Triwizard Tournament.” As she spoke, a blood red quill scraped against a floating parchment, recording her words. “A suggestion has been made that either your use of the spell or its effects were against either the rules of the tournament or the laws of this country.”

Harry steeled himself.

“Which is it?”

She frowned.

“What do you mean?”

“Raise a charge against me and I will answer it.” Harry challenged. “Rather than flinging about ‘suggestions’.”

“We would like to deal with this as efficiently as possible.” She replied. “I do not think making formal charges would be in your best interests.”

_Or yours._ Harry added, frowning to himself. By ‘efficiently’ she clearly meant ‘quietly’. He wondered who had raised the objection, whether it was someone truly trying to enforce the rules, or someone with something more personal against him.

“Might I meet my accuser?” He asked sweetly, examining her expression.

She looked slightly uneasy for a moment.

“You may not.” Came the curt reply.

_It’s likely personal, then._ He thought heavily. At last the shadows were moving behind the curtain, extending their ghostly knives to interfere with him; to distract, to divert, to weaken. He wondered what their aim was here. Clearly, someone had decided that a public inquiry would not be in anyone’s interests. Did they want him quietly removed from the tournament? He supposed he had no choice.

“Release me without punishment, or charge me and give me a trial. Informal proceedings have no weight in the face of such serious allegations.” He challenged.

The woman’s round, pale face tightened. A trial would be messy, would be public, and he would win. He had broken none of the tournament’s rules, and even if they weren’t yet certain of that, his confidence would give them doubt.

“Mr Bagman! Leave us!”

Harry barely stopped himself from starting with surprise as her voice lashed out, though clearly it was not directed at him. He heard the tent flap slap shut behind him, and wondered whether Bagman had come and try to help him again by speaking in his defence. If so, he was grateful the man hadn’t had a chance to open his mouth.

Agnetha Roscoff’s steely gaze returned to his face.

“You may go.”

He left.

* * *

He found his family waiting a short distance from the tent, talking animatedly to Lord Crouch. Their conversation broke off as he came over.

“Well?” Sirius demanded. For once, he looked serious.

“They let me go.” Harry replied. He couldn’t help but note Crouch’s expression freeze at his words, even as his family looked relieved.

“Excellent.” His grandmother declared. “Now come, we will have dinner together in Hogsmeade. I’m sure your celebrations can wait an hour or two.” She said sharply when he made to protest.

Harry nodded, wondering why she was being so firm.

They left Lord Crouch standing on his own in the snow as they made their way across the school grounds to the wardline. A junior-looking enforcer stood guard by the gates, but he rushed to open them without question at their approach. Five minutes and a short apparition later and they were seating themselves comfortably around a table in _The Hippocampus_ , what seemed to be the nearest thing Hogsmeade had to a smart restaurant.

“What happened?” Harry’s grandmother asked as soon as they were ensconced at a table in asheltered corner.

Harry shrugged. Their journey had to the restaurant had been silent, and he felt a little unsettled by the urgency of the sudden question.

“Apparently someone thought I’d used an illegal spell. I knew I hadn’t, so I challenged them to charge me properly and they backed off.”

“They wanted it kept quiet, then.” Dorea murmured.

“Harry, what _was_ that spell?” Remus asked, sounding slightly nervous.

“Like the _Imperius_ curse, but it doesn’t affect the mind of the subject, only the body.” Harry replied. “It’s legal.” He assured them quickly, when Remus blanched and Dorea frowned. “At least, it’s legal according to the rules of the tournament; I’m not sure whether I’d be allowed to cast it outside of a task.”

“Can you teach it to me?” Sirius asked eagerly. “I could knock Scrimgeour out and make him do… things.” He finished weakly when Dorea turned her frown on him.

“Harry, do not teach that spell to your godfather.” She instructed.

“Umm, I’ll do my best.” He replied, trying not to make a promise.

“I brought you here to let you know that the tide is beginning to turn.” Dorea continued, brushing past the previous matter and looking deadly serious.

Harry was astute enough to know what she was talking about. He leant back in his chair and closed his eyes for a brief moment.

“I had hoped for more time.” He said softly. “But I suppose even the dealer cannot control the cards for the whole game.” _Although Dumbledore tries his best,_ he added silently.

“More time?” Sirius asked, leaning in and looking concerned.

Harry smiled at him.

“Don’t worry; I’m not ill or anything, that I know of, at least. Granny just means that people are beginning to manoeuvre against me.”

“Manoeuvre against you?” Remus asked.

“I returned to Britain with a famous name and immediately came into wealth and power. I am a significant token in the political game.” Harry explained. “I arrived and did everything in my power to make myself seem unaligned. I did all I could to gain advantages whilst no-one was willing to resist me and risk me turning against them. I gained my seats on the Wizengamot, I bargained successfully for Sirius’ freedom, and for the establishment of a new house at Hogwarts, all because of a lack of opposition. Now, either I have alienated some powerful people enough for them to turn against me, or have become enough of a threat that they seek to weaken me, whatever they believe of my motives.”

Dorea nodded.

“Exactly, although it is less developed than that, at the moment. I feel the impulse at the moment is to stop you expanding your influence further, rather than actively weaken you. That explains the inquiry after the task. I doubt they would have removed you from the tournament. It would have been deeply questionable, and a public outcry would have been inevitable. I suspect they merely desired to cast a shadow over your candidacy. It was not necessary to announce the investigation to the crowd, but doing so ensures it will be talked about.”

Harry nodded, feeling slightly relieved that his grandmother thought he had not yet made any new mortal enemies.

“What were you talking to Crouch about?” He asked curiously.

“He’s one of the ones I suspect is seeking to clip your wings.” Dorea commented. “We were asking him about the inquiry, and he almost went as far as accusing you himself.”

Crouch would make a formidable opponent, Harry thought regretfully. But then, in freeing Sirius he’d managed to humiliate the man in from of his peers, and so it was almost inevitable that he would bear something of a grudge.

“However,” Dorea continued, smiling slightly now, “I must compliment you on your handling of the matter, and congratulate you on your performance.”

Sirius nodded eagerly.

“You were great, pup.”

“Very impressive.” Remus agreed.

“What were the others like?” Harry asked. Really, he wanted to know about Cedric, but seeing as no-one apart from the two of them knew about their relationship, he did not want draw attention.

“Well, your boyfriend did pretty well.” Sirius acknowledged, smirking at him.

Harry just rolled his eyes at his godfather. He couldn’t deny Cedric was his boyfriend without lying outright, which he also didn’t want to do.

“He managed to stun the chimera his team got.” Sirius continued, sounding almost admiring. “Got it right in the eye, damn good shot.”

* * *

Harry walked slowly back up to the school much later that evening, full from the excellent meal and feeling slightly sleepy after the exertions of his day. The cold air roused him a little, but all he could wish for as the lights of Hogwarts came into view was the warm embrace of his bed. It was not to be, however, for he was stopped half a dozen times in the corridors by excited fans congratulating him on his performance and asking about the results of the inquiry. Once he reached what he hoped would be the sanctuary of the Blackleprickle common room, he found his six housemates waiting for him.

“At bloody last!” Liram called, throwing a Fizzing Whizzbee at his head. Harry caught it and bit into it.

“Thanks.” He said to his friend, walking over to join them, only to start levitating halfway across the room. It was a strange sensation, trying to walk whilst the hovering effect of the weird bubbly-sherbet was still in effect, like paddling against air.

“See how our mighty champion has fallen!” Liram mocked.

Harry tried to swim with his arms as well, drawing a laugh from the group around the fire. Shortly afterwards, the enchantment dissipated and Harry found himself gently set back down upon the carpet.

“You decided not to eat with us?” Daphne asked.

“I wanted to eat with you guys, but my family had other ideas.” Harry replied, shrugging. “Sorry if I missed the party.”

Tracey snorted.

“What party? The Puffs are probably getting drunk right now.” She muttered, looking annoyed.

Harry felt slightly inadequate then, like the house he’d created couldn’t provide the celebrations that one with a few hundred more members could. He shrugged off the duelling jacket he hadn’t had a chance to remove since the task, and raised a hand to summon a couple of bottles of wine from his chambers.

“Fancy a glass?” He asked Tracey, who’d grown wide-eyed.

“Umm, yeah.” She replied. It sounded like _of course._

“I doubt the Hufflepuffs have alcohol.” Daphne reassured her, reaching out to take the conjured goblet Harry offered. “They’re far too well behaved, and they wouldn’t want to disappoint Professor Sprout.”

“Yeah.” Liram agreed. “Whereas Slughorn is more likely to be disappointed if we don’t have booze hidden away.”

Harry relaxed slightly, sinking into the soft cushions of the sofa he was sharing with Blaise. In truth, Slughorn had worked out even better than he’d expected. The man didn’t get in his way, and was always helpful when Harry needed a member of staff

“I was actually hoping you guys might help me plan a party.” He began casually, sipping his wine.

“When?” Tracey demanded eagerly, half her glass already gone.

* * *

“Hmm.”

It took all of Harry’s considerable restraint to make such a noncommittal sound. Liram looked up from his spiced porridge and leant in to read the Prophet’s front page.

“What?” He exclaimed. Harry was happy to note he sounded indignant.

_‘BOY-WHO-LIVED PENALISED FOR USE OF ILLEGAL SPELL IN TRIWIZARD TOURNAMENT!’_ Ran the headline.

“I thought you said they let you off?” Liram asked.

“I thought they did.” Harry answered, frowning slightly as he scanned the article.

_…Lord Potter-Black’s use of an unrecognised spell with effects eerily similar to the Unforgivable Imperius curse was observed during the Second Task of the Triwizard Tournament, currently taking place at Hogwarts School. An anonymous complaint was brought to the governing body for Wizarding sports, and a decision has been issued that Lord Potter-Black be docked ten points from his provisional first-place total of forty eight…_

The article ran on for several further paragraphs, and even raised the possibility of Harry being prosecuted for his use of a curse that should clearly be illegal. The byline, however, managed to drag his attention away from even the prospect of prosecution.

_Rita Skeeter._

“What a bitch.” Liram commented, in a remarkable echo of Harry’s own thoughts.

“Yeah.” He agreed shortly, trying to push his anger to one side and turn the information over in his head.

_She’s been freed, then._ He concluded. He’d thought he had Rita Skeeter and her editor under his thumb, but apparently either someone sufficiently powerful had come to release and protect them from his ire, or they had decided they were willing to dance with fire alone. He would have to find out which, but the more pressing concern was the fact that the Wizarding Sports people had also seemingly decided to challenge him. He supposed that his dismissal the previous day hadn’t _quite_ been an explicit agreement that he was free and innocent, but it had been close enough.

_So, someone has put more pressure on them._ He decided. _Enough pressure for them to run the risk of the threat I made._ It took him a few more moments, during which an increasing number of heads in the hall turned from their own copies of the Prophet to stare at him, to work out the cleverness of their plan.

_They haven’t really punished me._ He realised. _At least not seriously. I’m still in the tournament, still have enough points from the task to put me somewhere in the middle of the pack. They probably want me to complain about this, then they can just have Skeeter tear me apart for moaning about losing a few points when I used an almost-Unforgiveable on a foreign student. She’ll use it as a platform to claim I got off lightly, to try and turn people against me, paint me as dangerous, as out of control._

The thought that he had worked out the intentions of the anonymous person or persons behind the attack did not cheer him. He would have to accept the punishment without complaint. It irked him, because although he felt guilty for taking advantage of Gang, even risking the other boy’s health to gather the gold snitch, he knew he had broken none of the tournament’s rules, and also knew that Gang was only too grateful for an opportunity to stay in the competition.

“You know,” Liram began, breaking into his train of thought, “I could vouch for you, for your spell. That it isn’t, like, the imperius or anything.”

Harry considered the notion briefly. He’d needed a human to test the spell on before using it in the tournament, after it had worked as intended on mice. A slightly nervous Liram had volunteered. His feedback had been invaluable in tweaking the last few bits of arithmancy, and had assured Harry that whilst his curse might be able to move a person’s muscles, it had no control over their mind. Liram, when conscious, had been able to wrest control of his limbs back with no effort.

“I don’t think it’s worth it.” He answered regretfully. He had to pick his battles, and he suspected that this one would cost him too much to win to merit fighting.

* * *

“No holiday work for you, Mr Potter-Black.” Professor McGonagall graced Harry with a rare smile as she made her announcement.

“Professor!” Ron Weasley exclaimed, turning round in his seat, a look of outrage on his freckled face. “How come he gets to escape?”

He quailed under her gaze.

“Because, Mr Weasley, he currently has a teacup sitting in front of him. As soon as your own chicken discovers its ceramic form I shall be glad to exempt you from the extra reading.”

Harry wasn’t really sure why Weasley bothered, to be honest. He seemed to resent the achievements of every other student in all of his classes. Harry supposed that it couldn’t be easy following a string of older brothers who had all done well at Hogwarts, when Ron himself seemed to struggle. The redhead had developed a particular dislike of Harry, never quite living down their encounter on the train in September. He alone at Hogwarts had loudly voiced his outrage at Harry’s being selected as one of the Triwizard Champions. The existence of a competitor his own age had done much to undermine his own boasts that only Dumbledore’s age line had prevented him from representing Hogwarts.

The youngest Weasley son, however, did not merit much of Harry’s attention. The school term had officially ended several days before, on the Friday before the Second Task, but Professor McGonagall had taken the continued presence of so many of her students in the castle to arrange for some additional tuition. Harry had wanted to ignore the sessions, but Liram had dragged him along, and so he found himself locked inside poking various species of poultry with his wand when he’d much rather be flying over the frozen lake or kidnapping Cedric again.

The Yule Ball was two days away now, and the talk around the school had been of little else. Several scandals had erupted regarding who was supposedly taking whom. Harry had been amused to learn that he was supposed to have taken pity on Ron Weasley’s younger sister. Apparently she had announced her intention to ask him to some of her friends, who had seen the rumour spread. Whatever truth lay beneath the whispers, Harry had only seen the redheaded girl across the Great Hall at mealtimes, staring at him and blushing violently whenever he caught her eye. It was a little discomforting, truth be told. Not nearly so discomforting, however, as Daphne had proved for Draco Malfoy. His father had apparently not told him that arrangements to betroth him to Lord Greengrass’ daughter had been quietly dismissed, and so Draco had valiantly attempted to smooth along the abandoned process by inviting her.

Harry had not seen the event in person, though he would have paid good money to have done so, but Daphne told him that Draco had seemed confused by her refusal, as though he had not even considered it an option.

Apparently he was now taking Pansy Parkinson, which Harry thought was probably even more embarrassing than being dismissed by his first choice. Liram had ended up taking Daphne, she having invited him after refusing the advances of half of Slytherin’s smuggest purebloods. Anthony had managed to screw up enough courage to ask Padma to go with him, and Tracey was going with Blaise, which Harry thought was a remarkably strange pairing. He also couldn’t help but think it made Blackleprickle look a little incestuous, but that couldn’t be helped. The Black family had been marrying cousin to cousin for a thousand years, and sibling to sibling before that, so he supposed the house named in its honour was somewhat ironically continuing a proud tradition.

* * *

“‘Arry, might I ‘ave a word wiz’ you?’”

Harry thought that Fleur’s accent sounded stronger than normal when she caught him as he left the Great Hall on the morning of the ball. He turned and smiled at her, nodding Daphne on. She looked slightly reluctant, but left, and Harry was alone with his date for the evening.

“How can I help you, my lady?” He asked courteously, smiling playfully.

She laughed softly and returned his expression.

“We must talk about this evening, oui?” She asked. “We must prepare our entrance.”

“Prepare our entrance?” Harry echoed, amused.

“I am not in ‘ze tournament any more!” She exclaimed, and although her perfect pink lips continued to smile, Harry could detect the hurt in her voice. “So I must make sure that people do not forget me!” She declared emphatically.

“Impossible.” Harry assured her.

She smiled.

“Well, we will be making sure. I would like us to be ‘ze last champions to enter ‘ze Hall. We must stand at the back of the group to go in. Also, do not wear anything that clashes with green or silver.”

“Green and silver? Have you become a Slytherin?” Harry asked.

Fleur tossed her hair, stopping a couple of passing fifth years in their tracks.

“I ‘ope not.” She answered. “I would not like to live in a dungeon. But anyway, I ‘zink that is everything you must know. You may collect me from the Beauxbatons’ carriage at quarter to eight.” She informed him, before sweeping off.

Harry shook his head, setting off back towards the Blackleprickle common room through corridors gently dusted with snow. Hogwarts’ army of house elves had been engulfed in a flurry of activity over the preceding week, draping great garlands of holly and ivy and other greenery about the castle, perching festive hats atop the many suits of armour and installing a tree so large that it dwarfed even Hagrid and Madame Maxime in the entrance hall.

When he pushed open the door to the common room, he found himself facing the broad rear of Professor Slughorn.

“Ah, Harry, my boy!” The man greeted cheerfully, turning ponderously. Harry wondered how the man had detected his entrance, before he saw his other six housemates sat in front of the man and looking in his direction. “Sit down, sit down. I was just talking about the ball this evening.” Slughorn continued, waving Harry to a sofa.

He sat down next to Daphne, who lifted a faint smile in his direction before returning her attention to their head of house.

“As I was saying, Minerva, ahem, Professor McGonagall,” Slughorn corrected himself hastily, “has instructed me to ensure that my students do not let the side down, as it were, this evening.”

“Let the side down?” Padma asked, sounding confused.

Slughorn smiled genially.

“That’s what she said. I expects she means no drinking, no practical jokes, not saying anything embarrassing in front of our guests, and so on.”

“She should focus on her Gryffindors.” Daphne muttered. “We all know exactly how to behave.”


	20. Now Dance for Me

“Does this look right?”

Harry tilted his head, eyeing Liram’s reflection in the mirror.

“Pretty good.” He commented, before standing and going over.

“Clearly not good enough.” Liram commented sardonically as Harry pulled his bow tie apart and began re-knotting it.

“Well, I was hoping for a more appreciative audience.” Came a tart voice from behind them a few moments later. “But I see you boys have eyes only for each other.”

Liram’s eyes flicked over Harry’s shoulder, amused. Harry barely concealed his alarm as he turned to find Tracey standing at the bottom of the staircase to the common room.

“Looking good.” He commented, smiling at her and relaxing as he registered the lack of suspicion in her expression. She did look good. Her dress was long and a rich purple, flattering a remarkably curvaceous form for a girl who’d just celebrated her fifteenth birthday. He dark brown her tumbled neatly over one shoulder.

She didn’t look as good as Liram, though, whose dress robes were dark gold, edged with fine lines of curling Persian script. They made him look newly exotic under the soft lamps of the common room, his hair and eyes ink dark and mysterious.

“You nearly done?”

“It’s different when I’m not doing it on myself.” Harry answered, frowning at the offending strip of silk.

“I’m not going to ask what you’re talking about.” Drawled another voice from the stairwell. Blaise stepped into the common room, tall and lean, almost ascetic looking in robes of black velvet. Harry didn’t answer, concentrating on his task as Blaise smiled at his date and pressed his lips to her fingers.

Anthony and Padma entered the common room together, arm in arm and both looking slightly flushed. His robes were nondescript, but didn’t look bad on his lanky form. Padma’s sari was a shocking pink, though, and she rather cast him into shade.

“Umm, are we ready to go?” Anthony asked awkwardly, running a hand through his carefully gelled hair.

“Yeah, just waiting for Daphne.” Harry answered, adjusting his work for a final time before stepping back, involuntarily admiring Liram for a second before reminding himself that he had a boyfriend.

He turned when Blaise let out a half-mocking, half-admiring whistle. Daphne stepped off the final stair, her dark blue dress gleaming like a current of deep water as she came into the room. She smiled gently as they admired her.

“You look beautiful.” Liram said hastily, sounding genuinely impressed.

“Thank you.” She answered, her eyes flicking over him before they drifted across to Harry. She frowned.

“Aren’t your robes a little,” she hesitated, “loose?”

Harry blinked at her, feigning surprise as he looked down at sleeves that were brushing his knuckles and a hem that was dragging against the carpet.

“You might be right.” He acknowledged, smirking at her before pulling a tiny glass phial from an inner pocket. He uncorked it and let the four drops of cloudy liquid inside slide onto his tongue.

“Umm, what was that?”

Harry didn’t answer Liram, instead gritting his teeth against the pain as his bones began to grind against one another. His joints suddenly felt like they were covered with sandpaper and his back twisted agonisingly for a second before straightening.

“Wow.”

Trying to catch his breath, he looked back at Tracey.

“Well, the robes fit now.” Daphne remarked lightly, though Harry was amused to note her own gaze trailing over him.

“Ageing potion?” Blaise asked.

“Yeah, got the idea from the Weasley twins, weirdly, when they tried to sneak their names into the Cup. Thought I could do with looking a bit older this evening, what with a seventeen year old part Veela for a date.”

“Are there male Veela?” Tracey blurted out, staring.

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” Harry replied, grinning at her.

“That’s what, three years?” Daphne asked, moving a few steps closer to examine him.

“About two.” He answered, feeling a little strange now that he was looking at them from a couple of inches further up than he was used to.

“Suits you.” Daphne remarked shortly, before stepping back and resting her arm on Liram’s sleeve.

“Are we ready?”

Blackleprickle murmured its collective assent and followed her out of the common room. They found the entrance hall already thronged with guests busy greeting one another and slowly trickling into the Great Hall. Harry caught glimpses of a few faces he knew and exchanged a couple of smiles as he made his excuses and his way to the main doors. The steps had been freshly swept and carpeted, protected from the slowly falling snow by enchantments as guests from London and abroad made their way out of the thestral-drawn carriages that had been enlisted to transport them from the entrance to the grounds.

Harry shrugged on a black cloak of cloud-soft wool, trimmed with sleek dark fur that he didn’t want to think too much about the origins of, and made his way across the grounds in the direction of the powder blue carriage glowing in the moonlight. He wasn’t really sure what kind of reception to expect, but was a little startled when Fleur herself immediately opened the door at his knock and made her way down the steps.

“Good evening.” She purred softly, her pale eyes gleaming as they played over him. “I see you ‘ave made some… adjustments.” She sounded vaguely amused.

“I hope I meet your approval.” Harry replied, smiling slightly and feeling a little on edge.

“We will ‘ave to see.” Fleur replied archly, extending a slender hand to brush the door to the carriage closed behind her.

“You look breathtaking.” Harry told her. It was true, of course, because she always did, but he could see little of her beneath the long, hooded cloak that covered her from her hair to the ground.

“I should ‘ope so. I ‘ave every possible advantage.” She acknowledged smugly, before her lips twitched slightly. “I even ‘ave my own cloak, so you will not have to be a gentleman and freeze by lending me your own.”

“I considered bringing a spare.” Harry replied.

Her chuckle filled the cold night air, and Harry felt an involuntary shiver run down his spine.

“Come,” she instructed, reaching beneath his cloak to take his elbow, “the others ‘ave all gone, and we would not wish to miss our entrance.”

Harry wondered idly whether all Veela had such a flair for dramatics, or if it was just the French.

They found Professor McGonagall at the top of the steps to the entrance hall, greeting arrivals in her Scottish burr and looking slightly uncomfortable as a flood of London high society descended upon her school. She was wearing a rather conservatively cut dark green dress with a tartan sash and a hair style that looked fractionally looser than usual.

“Good evening, Miss Delacour, Mr Potter-Black.” She greeted them politely, though Harry noticed her frowning at his aged form.

They found the entrance hall considerably emptier than when Harry had left. The last few guests were just disappearing and a line of Triwizard champions and their partners had assembled in front of the doors to the Great Hall. A head of golden hair turned at their approach, and Harry locked eyes with Cedric. His boyfriend looked slightly taken aback by his new appearance, before his expression softened into appreciation. Harry hoped no-one else was looking at him too closely, because Cedric was not doing a good job of hiding his interest.

His concern on that score was assuaged when he removed his own cloak and held out his arm to take Fleur’s. The dark green cloth whispered from her body as she handed it to him, revealing a dress that had every eye still in the room pinned in place. Her silver gown clung to an impossibly perfect form, drinking in the light from the candles and casting it onto skin that shone with a pearlescent glow. Her silver-blonde hair fell freely about her face, casting tantalising shadows as it brushed against the curve of her exposed back. Her face needed no makeup, but her cheekbones seemed even more prominent than usual, her full lips two blood red petals set beneath eyes that were all the more luminous for the caresses of shadow that accentuated them.

“Well?” She asked Harry, tilting her head almost playfully. The string of emeralds around her neck dipped into the delicate hollow of her throat and the matching stones dangling from one ear brushed against her bare shoulder. There was no man on earth who could have failed to be distracted by the sight, and Harry took a moment to gather his scattered thoughts.

“I see now why the muggles believe in angels.” He told her at last.

Her lips stretched back.

“You are very good.” She told him approvingly. “And your robes were well chosen.” She acknowledged, casting an eye over layers of silk of a green so dark that it looked almost black in the folds. “We will be Slytherins together.” She declared, smiling widely and sending every man within twenty feet into a state of nervous collapse.

Harry laughed, and they joined the rear of the line of assembled champions just as Professor McGonagall abandoned her position by the main doors and came over to inspect them. There were perhaps three dozen of them lined up, in all, for it seemed as though many of the twenty-four champions had decided only another champion would do for an escort. Harry noticed, much to his irritation, that Cho’s dress of navy and gold made her look like some kind of imperial princess, delicate and lovely. He was gratified to note, though, that Cedric’s gaze had hardly strayed from him, barely glancing at even Fleur in all her glory.

Harry stood next to his partner at the back of the line, behind the two champions from Uagadou, waiting for Professor McGonagall to finish her examination. Eventually, she seemed satisfied.

“You will enter the hall, process to the front, be greeted in turn by Minister Fudge, and take the seats you are shown to.” She declared shortly, before gesturing sharply with her wand to set the huge doors swinging wide.

The Great Hall was silent as the procession entered. A round of polite applause began as the champions ahead made their way up the hall. Harry had half been expecting it, and so wasn’t surprised when Fleur’s grip on his arm suddenly tightened just before the couple in front of them stepped through the entryway.

“Un, deux, trois, quatre, cinq.” He heard her breathe slowly, before her fingers released him and returned to their previous position. They moved forwards together, to the suddenly released murmurs of the assembly. Harry hoped there was only admiration in the remarks, but he knew the comments would be running the spectrum from approval to dislike to hatred to lust. He pitied Fleur her allure in that moment, as he watched hundreds of men and a scattering of women lose all sense of their self and surroundings.

_A blessing, perhaps, but mainly a curse._

She smiled, however, and swept up the hall, a queen before her subjects. The thousand floating candles that usually lit the room had been gathered into great crystal chandeliers suspended from the starlit sky above. Ice sculptures depicting fantastical beasts reared up, glittering against the walls, interspersed with trees heavy with baubles and dusted with snow. A thousand pairs of eyes followed every step of their progress. The delay in their entrance had been sufficient for Minister Fudge to greet the remainder of the champions, and so he stood alone on the dais at the far end of the hall, smiling a politician’s smile. His expression froze and he flushed as Fleur drew closer.

“Miss Delacour.” He greeted after a slightly awkward hesitation, his hand shaking slightly as he extended it to press a polite kiss to her fingers. “And Lord Potter-Black, a pleasure to see you again.”

Harry wondered how long it had taken Fudge to memorise the names and faces of all of the champions as he returned the greeting.

“A feeling I share, Minister Fudge.” He answered pleasantly, as Fleur inclined her head slightly.

Fudge tittered nervously and jerked a hand.

“Please, join me.” He invited.

Dumbledore had apparently been stripped of his throne for the evening, and so all of the chairs at the head table were the same. The headmaster sat in his usual place, with the Minister to one side and Professor McGonagal to the other. The champions who were still in the tournament and their partners were seated in the remaining spaces, interspersed with headteachers and various senior Ministry officials. Harry found himself opposite Lord Crouch, who had his pet Weasley on one side and an unfortunately familiar face on the other.

“Father!” Fleur exclaimed. Harry could not tell whether the smile on her face was real, or whether the apparently delighted greeting contained an undercurrent of annoyance. Sebastian Delacour barely glanced at his daughter as he returned her greeting, his gaze fixed on Harry.

“Lord Potter-Black. What an honour to meet you again, under your own name.” The man had much less of an accent than Fleur, and the eyes that were the only feature he seemed to share with his daughter were as cold as ice.

“Monsieur Delacour, I am also delighted to see you again.” Harry answered, stiffening and offering a smile he hoped looked slightly warmer than the one he was receiving. “Have you been involved in the arrangements for the tournament?”

“The tournament?” The man seemed almost surprised. He gestured a hand dismissively. “No, no. I am here on the behalf of Minister Delacroix.”

“Not to keep an eye on me, father?” Fleur’s tone was light, but Harry was sure there was an edge to her words.

Sebastian Delacour ignored it, snapping open his napkin and tucking it into the collar of his robes.

“Of course not, you have brought great pride to our family, and I have come to celebrate your achievements.” He answered, his face half hidden by the menu he was perusing.

Harry thought he was probably the only one who noticed Fleur stiffen, but she smiled politely and raised her own menu.

“Bouillabaisse.”

“Ah, French food, Lord Potter-Black! Are you attempting to charm my daughter with your taste?”

The delicious smell of his dinner was filling Harry’s nostrils, but Monsieur Delacour looked like he’d caught a less pleasant scent in his own.

“If your daughter was so easily charmed, then I would be learning to cook French food, not merely consume it.” Harry answered calmly, a little unnerved by the continued hostility.

“Please, father.” Fleur entreated softly. Harry felt the weight of her hand on his sleeve. Sebastian Delacour’s eyes flicked to the gesture and his mouth twisted slightly, but he inclined his head.

“My apologies.” He murmured. “Let us try this British food in French clothing. Bouillabaisse!”

The golden plate in front of him reformed into a shallow dish, which filled itself with fish stew.

“Pork chops!” Lord Crouch’s barked command broke the silence, and Harry watched with veiled amusement as his pet Weasley hastily mirrored his boss’ order.

“So, have you had an opportunity to watch any of the tournament, Monsieur Delacour?” Harry asked politely.

“I have not.” The man replied. “Though my wife and younger daughter both witnessed the First Task.”

“How is Gabrielle?” Harry asked, smiling.

The frown returned to Delacour’s face.

“She is well, and in Paris with her mother.”

Harry took that for a dismissal.

“Please give her my regards.” He replied neutrally, silently praying that Fleur would distract her father. Luckily, she seemed only too eager to draw him off with a conversation in French about something to do with a Veela community in the Pyrenees.

“I saw you lose your points.”

Harry had subtly been trying to watch Crouch talk to Percy Weasley, and work out what their surprisingly agitated conversation was about, but the unwelcome observation forced his attention away. He found Andrei, the Russian champion who’d seemed to take a disliking to him all those weeks ago, staring at him. He was a seat down from Harry, the girl who was presumably his date separating the two of them and looking as though she would rather be anywhere else.

“Yes.” Harry agreed, masking his irritation. “I was disappointed, of course, but I still have a reasonable position in the standings and I hope to work my way back to the top.”

“You do not intend to fight the judgement?” Lord Crouch’s voice intruded suddenly.

“I see no reason to.” Harry answered, his irritation fading as he read the clear annoyance in the other man’s expression. “I have every confidence in my abilities, and if the authorities see fit to handicap me then it is not a problem, merely a minor obstacle.” He finished lightly, barely able to resist smiling as Lord Crouch’s moustache twitched and his pet Weasley’s face adopted a look of anger. The redhead seemed about to say something, but a sharp gesture from his boss had him holding his silence and returning sulkily to his pork chop.

“You would be wise to restrict yourself to less dangerous tactics, Lord Potter-Black.” Crouch warned, and Harry had a feeling it wasn’t just the tournament he was referring to.

He smiled back at the man.

“I will do my best.”

The conversation for the rest of the meal was less fraught. Lord Crouch didn’t thaw, and Andrei didn’t soften much either, but the Russian’s date proved to be a charming enough girl from Durmstrang who hadn’t been selected by the goblet. She seemed to have an encyclopaedic knowledge of its history, however, and her tales of various past champions’ unfortunate demises proved morbidly fascinating. It probably wasn’t terribly appropriate conversation for a formal dinner, but the fact that Harry could see Percy Weasley beginning to look a little green about the ears kept tempting him to press the girl, called Linnea, for further gory details.

The house elves had outdone themselves. Even the two Delacours nodded grudging approval over the bouillabaisse, before declaring the lemon tart to be ‘acceptable’. Harry kept trying to get a glimpse of Cedric, but his boyfriend was on the same side of the table as him and a dozen or so seats down, so he didn’t have much hope.

“Are you ready?”

Harry turned to Fleur, a little guilty that he’d allowed himself to be distracted by thoughts of Cedric and his conversation with Linnea.

“For?” He asked, quirking an eyebrow.

“To dance.” She murmured, inclining her head slightly in the direction of their vanished dessert plates.

“Of course,” he answered, “but I doubt we’ll get to that before Dumbledore’s given us a monologue.”

As if in answer to his remark, the headmaster rose from his seat, smiling gently as the hall slowly fell silent.

“Good evening. For those of you who are not students or existing guests, welcome!” He began. Compared to his usual tastes, Dumbledore’s robes were restrained; long and pure white. He looked almost angelic in the frosty Great Hall, with his snowy hair and robes and benevolent expression. “I hope that you have all enjoyed our meal this evening, I know that I, for one, have been looking forward to it for weeks…” he rambled on for some minutes, congratulating the champions, celebrating the relations being forged and the glory to be won. Harry quickly tuned him out, his attention caught by Professor Moody, who was on a table nearby and seemed to be engaged in a staring competition with Lord Crouch. Neither of them looked particularly happy. Harry smirked when eventually Lord Crouch turned away, his eye twitching irritably.

“But now, we must move on to the second part of what has thus far been a wonderful evening—” Dumbledore’s voice broke back into his thoughts “so might I invite all of our brave champions to take to the floor?” As he finished speaking, he spread his arms wide and all the tables in the room, guests still seated around them, were brushed smoothly away from the centre, leaving a large rectangle of floor empty.

_Ok, that was seriously impressive._ Harry had to acknowledge to himself. Dumbledore had just moved thousands of objects, hundreds of humans, with staggering precision as though it were nothing. The murmurs, interspersed with a few cries of alarm, told him that he was not the only one taken aback by the display.

Sebastian Delacour glowered at Harry as he stood with Fleur and escorted his date down the steps to the hastily cleared dance floor.

“I hope you ‘ave not forgotten how to dance, ‘Arry.”

Harry smiled back at Fleur as he turned to face her, profoundly grateful that he’d taken the Ageing potion and could now match her height in heels.

“I struggle to remember anything when I look at you.” He answered, smirking playfully, though feeling slightly nervous as he placed his hand on her waist and found his fingers resting on bare skin. Fleur returned his expression, taking his other hand in hers and straightening as the music struck up.

“I must apologise for my father.” She murmured, her lips barely moving as they stepped in sequence, carefully manoeuvring away from a couple of champions who seemed less comfortable waltzing.

“No apology is necessary. I’m sure I would hover over such a magnificent daughter.”

“You would not travel from Paris for an evening meal.” She answered, but she seemed to relax slightly. “I think we have the most attention from our audience.” She commented a moment later.

Harry rolled his eyes at her.

“ _You_ have the most attention from your audience.” He corrected. “I am merely the unfortunate object of envy in this situation.”

It was mostly true: there were dozens of pairs of eyes fixed on them, even those of some of the other dancers, and the majority were on Fleur. Harry could hardly blame them. Even when still she was enough to take anyone’s breath away, and she danced with astonishing grace. He couldn’t help but notice that more than a few gazes, though, seemed to be following him, and he tried to focus on his steps and ignore the stares.

Fleur was giving him a look of mock-affront.

“How dare you call yourself unfortunate when you ‘ave me in your arms.”

“I must apologise. I was merely concerned about the number of fights for your honour that are likely to interrupt our evening.”

Fleur tossed her head haughtily and pulled him into a turn that was probably rather too sharp for the music.

“I will fight for my own honour.” She declared. “Although if you could curse my father, I would not object.”

Harry chuckled, noticing that more couples were now joining the champions, the surrounding tables disappearing in showers of silver rain around them to clear more space. He could see Minister Fudge shuffling a strained looking Lady Bones along, his lime coloured bowler hat rather incongruous in the setting. Dumbledore seemed to have managed to charm Madame Maxime into accompanying him, and for all their difference in size and age the two made for a remarkably elegant couple.

Suddenly, he caught Cedric’s eye, almost stumbling as he watched his boyfriend gracefully lead Cho, who barely reached his chin even in her heels, through a series of quick spins that left her smiling and breathless.

Cedric grinned at him, though when his eyes strayed briefly to Fleur his expression stiffened. Eventually, he looked away and continued dancing with his partner. Harry turned his attention back to Fleur, who was eyeing him curiously.

“You really do not feel my allure, do you?” She asked.

“A little.” He lied. “Though you have forced me to work on my Occlumency.”

She frowned at him, apparently a little unsatisfied as they continued stepping their way through the swirls of silk dancing in the glittering hall.

* * *

“Why don’t we find some drinks?”

Fleur nodded, and although she was as poised as ever, he couldn’t help but think he registered a faint note of relief in her expression. The dance floor was crowded now, and other people had began pressing in around them. He hadn’t been aware of any hands straying too close, but the scrutiny had been making him increasingly uneasy. It must have been considerably worse for Fleur, but he knew that she was far too proud to ever acknowledge the effect such attention must be having. He would bend first, then, for both their sakes. They made their hasty escape, moving swiftly through the throng.

The two of them reached one of the remaining tables scattered around the edge of the room, and Fleur gratefully took the goblet of ice cold water that Harry poured her from a waiting jug.

“Thank you.” She said, watching him calmly.

“No problem.” Harry replied, sipping his own water and feeling annoyed on Fleur’s behalf that it wasn’t just the drink she was having to be grateful for.

They sat down and watched the dancing for a while. They were in the corner of the hall farthest from the small orchestra beside the head table, and so could speak easily.

“Your family, they are not here tonight?” Fleur asked him curiously.

“No.” He answered, shaking his head. “They were invited, but they thought I’d probably prefer to have the evening without them.”

Fleur smiled.

“They are more diplomatic than my father, then, though you should not tell him that I said ‘zat.”

They sat conversing for a few minutes, watching the mesmerising interplay of brilliant colours in front of them as the assembly danced under the diamond splintered light of the chandeliers. The gentle swell of music and warmth of laughter filled the air, and Harry could sense Fleur began to relax next to him as her father failed to appear.

“‘E must ‘ave returned to Paris.” She commented, brushing her hair over one shoulder. Harry caught a faint hint of the perfume she was wearing as she did so, filling his throat and chest with its heady warmth. He felt a little dizzy as Fleur faced him with a smile. “You must visit us again this summer, ‘Arry. Perhaps in June, when the roses are their most beautiful.”

He nodded hastily.

“I will, of course, return to see whatever delights you see fit to show me.”

He blushed when Fleur lifted an eyebrow, her perfect lips twisting into a predatory smirk.

“And what are these delights you would like to see, ‘Arry?” She purred.

He swallowed. The robes that had been so loose a couple of hours before were suddenly tight across his shoulders, and his shirt felt like it was stuck to his back.

“Fleur,” he began, searching for words, “anything you—”

“Lord Potter-Black.”

Harry turned, relief almost overwhelming him for a moment, before he located the source of the greeting.

“How wonderful to meet you at last.” The woman continued. If Fleur’s purr had been seductive, this woman’s voice was that of a tigress to her house cat. Harry was almost in a daze as he lifted the extended hand to his lips and felt the graze of heavy gemstones against his mouth. He couldn’t help but wonder how men who didn’t have the shield of being gay functioned in either woman’s presence.

“Lady Zabini.” He greeted, his voice fainter than he would have liked. He could probably have guessed her identity from the slight echo of her son’s face in her features, but the glimpse he caught of the tiny rodent engraved into the face of one of her rings removed any doubt.

She smiled, and seemed more like a shark for an instant as her teeth shone.

“Indeed,” she acknowledged, taking the chair to his left before he and Fleur could rise. She inclined her head in the direction of his date. “Mademoiselle Delacour, a pleasure.”

Fleur returned the gesture.

“I was hoping I would have a chance to speak to you this evening.” Lady Zabini continued, crossing her legs and in doing so allowing the high slash in her skirt to fall open and reveal an expanse of sleek, tanned thigh. She glanced at Fleur.

“Perhaps you would dance with me?” She asked Harry.

Harry, also, glanced at Fleur, before casting his gaze around. He found Blaise approaching with Padma, his eyes fixed on his mother. Liram and Daphne were just behind them.

“Of course.” He replied, hoping his hesitation hadn’t insulted her. “Perhaps Blaise would dance with Fleur?” He suggested. He didn’t want to drag her back to the dance floor if she didn’t want to go, but he could hardly abandon her sitting alone.

“Umm, yes, yes, of course.”

Harry grinned to himself as the normally imperturbable boy flushed and stumbled over his agreement.

The four of them left Padma, Daphne and Liram standing by the refreshments table as they returned to the floor. Harry soon discovered that even with his extra few inches Lady Zabini was a little taller than him, propped up on heels that looked far too precarious to dance in. She managed to defy physics, however, balancing effortlessly on one leg and drawing almost as much attention as Fleur had in a dress that exposed at least as much as it concealed.

“What do you think of my son?”

Harry forced himself to look away from her dazzling honey-coloured eyes.

“I haven’t known Blaise for long, but he’s been a good friend to me, and I hope that I have been the same to him.” He answered cautiously, wondering what she was after.

“He is a good boy.” Blaise’s mother remarked approvingly. “And shows much promise. I was pleased to hear of your friendship.”

Harry wasn’t sure what to make of her comment, but at least it seemed she did not consider him an enemy.

“You dance well.” She commented. “Too well for a child brought up by muggles.”

“Muggles?”

Lady Zabini waved a hand dismissively and somehow managed to make it look like part of the dance, her gold bracelets flashing.

“It was quite a scandal, in certain quarters, when you brought a muggle aunt to your reception before the World Cup.” She noted, not really answering his question. Her tone was arch, and Harry wasn’t quite sure whether she had been one of those who had thought it scandalous.

“Perhaps a little scandal is a good thing.” He commented, trying to smile charmingly.

Lady Zabini’s laughter was the amusement of a cat poking at its prey.

“Perhaps. Some believe that I specialise in it.” She commented airily, taking his hands and drawing him backwards to the beat of the music, her hips moving sinuously. “But I concern myself not with the affairs of lesser mortals, however much they pry into my own.”

The amusement hadn’t left her eyes, and Harry could see it dance anew as he tried to consider her words and follow her complicated steps at the same time. There was no question as to who was leading whom around the dance floor now. Lady Zabini seemed to revel in the attention.

“Will you be attending the Minister’s New Year Gathering?”

“I intend to.” Harry replied.

She smiled, before spinning him around until he was almost dizzy.

“I will see you there, then.” She remarked, before he felt her hand slip from his own and found himself alone at the edge of the dancefloor, his partner vanishing into the throng.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the feedback/kudos etc. It's much appreciated. Hope I've done the Yule Ball justice for you all.


	21. It is a Grey-Eyed Monster

“I’m glad you could join us.” Harry greeted his boyfriend and his date as they stepped into the Blackleprickle common room. He was trying to hold himself in check, but Cedric looked impossibly good with his bow tie slightly askew and the tailoring of his dark grey robes hinting at the well-muscled form beneath.

“Trust me, I wouldn’t have missed this for the world.” Cedric replied as he held Harry’s gaze. He blinked after a moment. “Uhh, have you met Cho?” He asked, years of social polish doing little to disguise his unease.

“I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure. An honour to meet you, Miss Chang.”

Cedric’s date smiled at him shyly.

“And you, Lord—, umm, Mr—”

“Just Harry.” He told her, smiling internally as he took in her flustered expression. She seemed less of a threat, somehow, when she was fumbling a greeting and tugging nervously at her hair. “The boring bit of the evening is over now, and we don’t need titles at a party.”

She nodded quickly, head bowed.

“Please, go and grab and drink.” He couldn’t help but stare after Cedric for a few moments as he escorted Cho in the direction of the alcohol. He stiffened when he turned back to find another couple entering the Blackleprickle common room.

“Lord Potter.” The boy smiled thinly. He continued before Harry could reply. “Could we speak outside?” He looked a little uncomfortable in the flashing lights and loud music of the common room.

“Of course, Heir Rooksbane.”

The boy released his date, who Harry thought he recognised as one of the Rosier girls, and led him out to the walkway over the lake. The air felt cold after the close heat of the party.

“So, what can I do for you?” Harry asked after a moment when the other boy turned to him silently.

Alexander Rooksbane’s face was marble in the pale moonlight falling through the windows, finely-boned and beautiful beneath hair equally drained of colour. He looked almost like a ghost, but his eyes were dark.

“The others,” he began, his voice cool and contemptuous, “they play games. They dance back and forth and whisper half-truths to one another as they wrestle for influence and favour.” He paused. “The Rooksbanes do not. We have made our decision and we will not stray from or hide it.” He reached inside his heavy robes, and Harry watched as he pulled out what looked like a quill. He took it uncertainly as the boy offered it to him.

“You are our enemy.” His voice was calm, neutral.

Harry stood there, frozen in the moonlight as Rooksbane dipped a short bow, turned, and left. He didn’t move until the door at the far end of the walkway closed.

Well, that was unexpected. He thought heavily, leaning against the wall now that he was alone. He looked down at what he’d thought was a quill, but now realised was just a feather, a long black feather. He prodded at it with his magic, wondering whether he’d been cursed, but so far as he could tell there was nothing out of the ordinary. He straightened as the door to the rest of the castle opened and half a dozen ballgoers came through. He nodded and smiled politely in their direction as they made their way past him and entered the common room, before tucking the feather into his robes and following.

“Well, it’s looking pretty good so far.” Daphne commented as she came over to him, a tumbler of what looked like whiskey in one hand.

“Yeah, I think we might have pulled it off.” He agreed, relaxing slightly at the sight of a friendly face. He knew that most of the people they’d invited to the party had agreed to come, but he’d still kind of been expecting an empty room or the sudden arrival of a rampaging Professor McGonagall. It was half an hour past midnight, though, and there were scores of other students in the common room. The hefty muggle sound system was throwing out wizarding pop music at a volume that made conversation impossible anywhere near the speakers, and Harry could see that most of the glasses had already disappeared from the drinks table.

“Will you dance with me?”

He focused on Daphne, slightly surprised by the invitation. She hadn’t sought him out at the ball, though he’d seen her dancing with both Blaise and the male Casa Rafaello champion as well as Liram. There was nothing he could do about Rooksbane now though, and he couldn’t deny that he wanted to spend some time with his friend.

“Of course.” He answered politely, swallowing the last of his almost empty glass of wine as Daphne finished her own drink. He shrugged off his robe and threw it over a chair to stand in his shirt. He took her hand and pulled Daphne to the cleared space in the middle of the room where half a dozen people were already dancing.

“Where did you learn to dance?” Daphne asked, her voice raised to reach over the pounding music.

“Like this?” Harry asked, stepping closer and running his hands lightly down her arms as their hips moved together.

She nodded back, apparently caught without words for once. He could see her cheeks were slightly flushed in the pulsating glow of the nightclub lights they’d had installed for the occasion.

“Peru.” He answered. “I glamoured myself to look over age and managed to get into some muggle clubs in Lima this summer.”

Aunt Mim had not been very impressed when she’d found out about his excursions, but to a teenager who’d just discovered the freedom of alcohol and the excitement of loud music and dark rooms her ban hadn’t carried much weight.

“You learned quickly.” She told him, even as her own body moved tightly in sequence with his.

“And you?” He asked, moving in to speak directly into her ear. She leant in, shifting sinuously against him, and gave him a smile that was considerably less reserved than usual.

“I’ve been learning all the normal pureblood dances since I was five. But Astoria and I got our teacher to show us some more… popular music.” She admitted, grinning. “Even some muggle songs. My father wasn’t very happy when he found out, but he let me learn as long as I did everything else he wanted.

It was a new side to Daphne that Harry felt he was seeing. Her body moved easily, loosely. She looked carefree under the hot lights and heavy bass, her eyeliner faintly smudged at the edges. Harry thought that if he were attracted to girls, he’d probably be halfway in love by now, but as it was he couldn’t help but find it incredibly endearing. The alcohol was no doubt playing its part, but the fact that the cool-tempered girl felt so easy in his company made him want to gather her close.

He lost his rhythm for a moment when the song changed and Daphne jerked upright excitedly.

“I know this one!” She exclaimed.

She clearly did. She was singing along to half of the words and her body was anticipating every beat. Harry was just about keeping up with her, but when the song ended he hastily unknotted his bow tie and released the top button of his shirt to get some air.

“May I ‘ave this one?”

Harry turned as the lightly accented voice brushed against his ear and he felt a gentle pressure on his arm.

“If my lady will release me?” He asked Daphne, taking advantage of the momentary silence.

Daphne glanced at Fleur before smiling reluctantly and leaving them. Harry felt obscurely guilty for a moment as his date placed her hands on his shoulders and smiled at him.

“I like this music you ‘ave found.” She purred. “It is very… sensual.”

Harry almost froze, intensely grateful that he’d freed his shirt collar as a fresh flush of sweat appeared on his body.

“I’m glad you’re enjoying it.” He answered awkwardly, the mild fog of alcohol draining from his head as he registered just how close Fleur’s body was to his own, how much skin was revealed when she curled her leg around his waist and leant her body back. She was a siren under the lights, all soft curves and sharp edges and liquid, impossible movement. He could feel the dancers around them faltering in her presence, stumbling out of their way.

“Well, ‘Arry—”

“Excuse me.”

Harry turned away from Fleur’s gaze and swallowed as he met a pair of furious grey eyes. Cedric’s hand landed possessively on his hip, and Harry shivered slightly even as he hoped none of the many eyes around them had noticed the movement. He stood frozen as Cedric practically forced himself between Harry and Fleur, glaring at the alarmed-looking girl.

“‘Arry?” She asked, stumbling slightly in her haste to step away.

Harry wasn’t quite sure what to say, distracted by a mixture of surprise and arousal. He looked at Cedric, and noticed for the first time how flushed he was beneath the sheen of sweat on his handsome features. He drew closer, carefully gripping his boyfriend’s elbow in a way he hoped would placate him without looking too incriminating.

“Cedric, calm down.” He pitched his voice low, hoping the music would keep his words from other ears. He was close enough now that he could smell the alcohol on Cedric’s breath. “I’m yours.”

His boyfriend’s nostrils flared, and as he met the still-angry stare he had a horrible feeling that Cedric was about to demand that he prove it.

“Now gentlemen, we don’t want any fights this evening.” Daphne Greengrass smiled as she rested a hand lightly on each of their arms. “Particularly not between Hogwarts’ two champions.”

Her words took a moment to sink in. Harry noticed Cedric glaring at Daphne’s hand on him. He gently disengaged himself before Cedric did anything they’d both regret. He met Daphne’s gaze nervously, shifting slightly away from Cedric. His boyfriend followed his movement with a suddenly hurt expression that was almost enough to make Harry step back and kiss him, damn the consequences.

“Perhaps you should see to Cho.” Daphne suggested calmly as she tilted her head in the direction of Cedric’s confused date, watching the spectacle from the far side of the room. Cedric’s jaw tightened and he eyed Daphne suspiciously before nodding stiffly.

“Of course.”

“Some water?”

Harry’s eyes were still following Cedric as he walked away, and so it took a second for him to process Daphne’s question.

“Yes.”

He followed her across the room and drained the glass she offered in a couple of long swallows. It did little to calm him. There were eyes on him, not least the silver-blue pair on the dance floor and the ice-blue set at his side. He mouthed a mute apology to Fleur, wondering what was going through her head as he turned towards his more immediate concern.

“Daphne—” He began, but broke off, not exactly sure where he was going. She sipped her own water slowly and watched him carefully. Her face was blank, but he knew she was taking in every hint in his own body and expression that her years of training and their short months of friendship would allow her to identify.

“Perhaps we should talk in the morning.” She said eventually, after watching him flounder for what felt like an age. Her lips twitched, though whether with bitterness or amusement he couldn’t tell. “At least I know now I’m not losing you to Fleur.”

Harry noticed that his hand was shaking slightly as he lifted a jug to refill his glass and watched Daphne return to a smiling Liram. His eyes searched for Cedric, and found him half in shadow on the far side of the room, head leant over Cho. From the set of his shoulders Harry could tell he was tense. As he watched, his boyfriend turned slightly and returned his stare for a few seconds before Cho seemed to say something. Harry finished his drink and steeled himself.

Fleur did not look impressed when he reached her.

“I do not understand.” She began before he could speak. “What is ‘ze problem?”

Her accent became stronger when she was upset, Harry noticed.

“I must apologise for the interruption to our evening.” He began, throwing out the words he’d spent a few seconds rehearsing. “A small issue between Cedric and myself. I hope we’ve dealt with it for now.”

She narrowed her eyes at him.

“Well, I ‘ope so too.” She paused and examined him, before glancing around the room. The music was still loud, and there were still people dancing, but it seemed less crowded now. “I think I would like to return to ‘ze carriage.” She told him.

Harry nodded, feeling both guilty and relieved.

“Of course, I’ll get our cloaks.”

She smiled coolly.

“Just my own, I think.” She told him. “You must attend to your guests.”

Harry hesitated. He knew he should press the issue, should escort her. But it wasn’t Fleur he wanted to be with. Thankfully, she filled in the pause.

“I will go with Natalya, I think she has had enough to drink,” she told him, tilting her head in the vague direction of another Beauxbatons student. Fleur smiled slightly and leant in. Harry stood mutely as she pressed a quick kiss to each cheek. “Thank you for ‘ze dancing.”

“Care to tell me what’s going on?”

Harry turned to Liram, wondering how many more people he could offend in one night.

“Tomorrow,” he hesitated: it wasn’t just his decision to make, and he had no idea what Daphne would say, would do, “maybe.”

Liram just nodded and clasped a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

“I’m sure it’ll work out.”

He left Harry alone with his thoughts.

* * *

The party was over. Harry wasn’t exactly sure of the time, but he knew it was well past three in the morning as he made his way to bed. He kicked off his shoes as he reached his rooms, thinking vaguely about taking a shower.

“Hi.”

Harry’s hand jerked towards his wand, but he recognised the voice. He turned to find Cedric sprawled out on his sofa, tousled and gleaming in the lamplight. His boyfriend stood up, and Harry noticed the bottle of firewhiskey on the coffee table.

“Umm, hey.” Harry answered, heart pounding. “How did you get in?”

Cedric shrugged. He’d drawn closer, but paused and leant against the back of a chair.

“Don’t know. Got rid of Cho. Thought I’d wait for you, make sure you didn’t come back with anyone.”

Harry flinched, but Cedric continued before he could speak.

“At least your magic must like me.” He smiled slightly. “I was just sitting outside the door and it opened for me.”

Harry wasn’t quite sure what to think of that.

“I’m sorry.” He said instead.

“For what?” Cedric demanded. He pushed himself off the chair and prowled over, predatory until he stumbled against the corner of a table. Harry jerked forwards and steadied him, bracing himself as his boyfriend leaned into him, dropping his face into the side of his neck.

“You smell like her.”

“Like who?” Harry couldn’t help but ask.

Cedric shrugged against him.

“Girls. Not me.” He nuzzled his face deeper, as though trying to rub away the strange scent.

“I’ll tell Fleur we… we can’t be together.” Harry bit out, trying to gather the words as Cedric tugged his shirt open and mouthed kisses along his collarbone.

“Good.” Cedric said, before pausing and pulling his head away, looking thoughtful. “Tell her you can never see her again. Or talk to her.” He added, nodding with satisfaction at the idea.

“You’re drunk.” Harry told him, smiling slightly at the jealousy as Cedric’s arms tightened around his waist.

“Yes.” His boyfriend admitted. “But I’ll think the same thing when I’m sober.”

Harry laughed, all thoughts of Rooksbane shoved aside with the warm weight of Cedric against him.

“Stay with me, tonight.” He murmured. He didn’t want to let go.

Cedric pulled back again, grinning mischievously.

“Lord Potter-Black, are you trying to seduce me?”

“Can you take a shower without drowning yourself?” Harry asked instead of answering.

“You want me naked?”

Cedric’s shirt was off before Harry could respond. It took every ounce of his self-restraint not to remain silent as he began to undo his trousers.

“Stop.” He said softly, pressing his hand over Cedric’s. His boyfriend exhaled. The hard ridges of Cedric’s stomach stood out in sharp relief as Harry looked down at where their hands were hovering near the exposed waistband of his boxers.

“Go shower.”

Cedric nodded reluctantly, and Harry watched as he walked unsteadily in the direction of the bathroom, one hand holding his trousers up. He went through to his bedroom and grabbed some underwear and a pair of joggers for Cedric. He forced himself not to look as he shoved them through the bathroom door.

It was pretty fucking frustrating to stand there, semi-aroused and impatient for his own shower when he knew there was a naked Cedric Diggory beneath the hot water a few feet away. He tried to think about Daphne, about Rooksbane, about the hundred other issues vying for his attention. He failed, and sat down on the padded bench at the foot of his bed and tried to ignore his erection as he waited.

“You could have joined me.”

Harry jerked round, his response dying in his throat as he took in the sight of his boyfriend, naked save for a towel knotted dangerously low around his hips.

“Uhhh, didn’t you see the stuff I left—”

“I sleep naked.” Drunk Cedric informed him.

Harry turned the words over absently in his head as he watched a drop of water chart its course from Cedric’s navel into the towel.

“You sleep…oh.” He trailed off.

Cedric grinned as he made his way over to the bed and slipped beneath the duvet. He fumbled under the covers for a second.

“Want to join me?” He asked.

Harry barely caught the towel as it was thrown at his head.

“I’m going to take a shower.” He said hastily.

He stripped off quickly when he was safely locked in the bathroom, not realising until he glanced at himself the mirror that the ageing potion was still in effect.

Well, at least it looks like Cedric will still be into me in a couple of years. He thought as he examined himself, tilting his head from side to side. Hell, I’d fuck me.

He turned on the shower and washed away the night’s sweat, ignoring his far from soft cock until he couldn’t help but notice that it, too, seemed to have been affected by the ageing potion.

Is it bad to think about Cedric whilst wanking? He asked himself. Is that a violation or a boyfriend’s prerogative? Does Cedric think about me when he jerks off? His cock twitched and he decided he didn’t mind the idea. It didn’t take him long to come, with the image of a wet and mostly naked Cedric superimposed over every other thought in his head.

He dried himself and pulled on the clothes he’d offered Cedric, wondering how he was going to be able to stop himself molesting his boyfriend. He was already mostly hard again as he stepped back into the bedroom. Harry wasn’t quite sure whether he was relieved or disappointed to find Cedric asleep. He slipped in beside him as carefully as he could, tapping his wand against the wall to extinguish the lights before stuffing it beneath his pillow.

He lay there in the darkness, and he’d never felt more awake. He could hear his own breathing, and Cedric’s, and the heat of his boyfriend’s body only a few inches away. Harry froze as he felt movement.

“Hello.”

He almost came again right then, already on a knife edge of arousal, with Cedric’s voice suddenly in his ear and his bare, hot skin against his body.

“I thought you were asleep.” Cedric was so close that their noses caught when he turned onto his side.

“I woke up.” Harry could hear the grin in his voice and smell the mint and alcohol on his breath.

“Did you borrow my toothbrush?”

“Yes.” Cedric paused. “Don’t worry though, I didn’t put it anywhere your tongue hasn’t been.”

Harry’s groan was cut off as Cedric crashed their lips together.

“Fuck.” He bit out, pulling back, tonguing his lip to feel for blood.

“Are you ok?” Cedric sounded almost panicked.

Harry found his lips again to answer, swallowing Cedric’s surprised exclamation.

“Yeah, I’m good.” He murmured, running his mouth across Cedric’s cheek to bite gently on his ear. He almost took it off when Cedric suddenly canted his hips forwards and Harry felt his hard cock against his stomach.

“Why aren’t you naked?” Cedric complained as he pressed himself against Harry.

Harry removed the hand he felt tugging at his waistband.

“Not when you’re drunk.” He told Cedric, much as it pained him. “I thought you Hufflepuff guys were supposed to be honourable.”

“I’m don’t want to be in Hufflepuff. I want to be in you.” Cedric giggled.

Harry blinked with surprise in the darkness, before blushing furiously.

“Hey! Who decided you’d be the one in me?” He asked indignantly.

“I don’t know.” Cedric admitted. “Thought it sounded funny.” He paused before adding. “You can fuck me if you like though.”

Harry groaned.

“You can’t talk like that. I’ve already got the hottest guy I’ve ever seen in bed with me, how am I supposed to hold back if he says that?”

“Where is he?” Cedric demanded.

“Who?”

“This hot guy.” Harry felt Cedric kicking around under the covers. “I can’t find him.”

Harry laughed and put his arm around Cedric’s waist, carefully not dropping his hand lower as he pulled his boyfriend back against him. Cedric stopped kicking and quieted. Harry felt his lips against his nose.

“Damn, I missed.”

Cedric found his mouth the second time.

“Are you rubbing yourself off on me?”

Cedric stopped moving.

“Umm, no?” He sounded worried.

“I don’t mind.” Harry reassured him hastily. “You can do whatever you like, when you’re sober.”

“I’m sober.”

Harry snorted with laughter, burying his face in Cedric’s hair. It was weirdly arousing that it smelt like his shampoo. It was about three seconds before he felt Cedric’s hand shove itself into his underwear. He forgot how to speak for a moment as the first hand other than his own to touch his cock was suddenly wrapped around his erection.

“You’re big.”

“How would you know?” Harry ground out, feeling a flicker of jealousy as Cedric began to stroke him slowly.

“I don’t.” Cedric admitted.

“Fuck. You’re big too.” Harry said, too aroused to think of a proper comeback as he grasped Cedric’s exposed cock.

“I know.” Came Cedric’s smug reply.

“You… you just admitted you don’t have anything to compare—” Harry began, before breaking off as Cedric yanked his sweatpants and underwear down and ground their erections together.

Within half a dozen strokes Harry was ready to come, and he tried to keep his own hand moving on Cedric’s cock as he fought off his own orgasm. He didn’t need to worry, though, because Cedric gave a groan that Harry thought was just about the hottest thing he’d ever heard, and jerked in his grip. He forced his lips against his boyfriend’s as he followed him over the edge a few seconds later.

They lay there in silence for a while, panting and sweaty and sticky, before Cedric kicked off the covers.

“Too hot.” He announced to the darkness.

Harry tugged his sweatpants off and used them to wipe his cock and stomach before pulling his underwear back up. He felt around and cleaned Cedric too.

“Hey!” Came the indignant response. “I wanted to lick that.”

Harry couldn’t bite back his moan, a fresh wave of arousal punching him in the stomach.

“We’ve got to sleep.” He told Cedric desperately, trying to resist grabbing his cock. Unfortunately, Cedric found it instead.

“I don’t want to sleep. I want to touch you.” Cedric informed him, as one hand tangled in Harry’s hair and the other slipped inside his underwear.

It was less than a minute before they both came again.

“Enough?” Harry asked, dropping back against the mattress, spreadeagled. His stomach tensed instinctively when he felt Cedric run a warm finger down his abs. The obscene popping sound that came a moment later when Cedric sucked the accumulated cum off his finger had him completely hard again.

“Don’t worry.” Cedric announced, suddenly sounding a little more sober. “I think I’m done.”

That wasn’t much of a relief, as Cedric slumped into the pillow next to him and left Harry wide awake and hard. He also needed a piss, so rolled out of bed and fumbled to the toilet as quietly as he could manage.

Having relieved himself, jerked off, and washed his hands, he made his way back to his boyfriend. He could feel his heart heave in his chest when a sleepy Cedric nudged up against him, draping an arm across his stomach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took a while for the next chapter, but thank you all so much for the feedback <3\. Just to note, there are plenty of bits (particularly early in the story) that I cringe over now and am aware are overwritten (I was 14 when I started this), but in general I prefer to write more rather than get bogged down re-writing the early bits. I'll get around to it eventually, and with every new chapter there are updates to earlier parts in the story I edit/smooth out for new or repeat readers.  
> Anyway, I really hope you enjoyed this one, and please let me know what you thought.


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